


Pyrrhic Victory

by BuffetAnarchist



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow, RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Gen, Introspection, No Romance, Parahumans (Parahumans Series), Possession, Post-Volume 3 (RWBY), RWBY spoilers, Semblance (RWBY), Since I'm both bad at it and nobody is ready for it at the moment, Spoilers, Trauma, Worm Spoilers, at least not yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 60,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuffetAnarchist/pseuds/BuffetAnarchist
Summary: She accepted her destiny atop Beacon Tower.Death came, but rather than oblivion, a new world followed.A world so unlike her home, without Aura or Grimm, yet not lacking in either wonder or horror.A world of capes and criminals, of trauma and triggers, of enigmas and Endbringers.Welcome to Brockton Bay, "Invincible Girl", may your future victories be more than simply Pyhrric.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 81





	1. Breath 1.1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this story was originally posted on Spacebattles.com, but I've decided to cross-post it both here and to ff.net in order to expand the readership as much as I can, in hopes that doing so might help to prime the pump of the flow of my creative juices. If you already read this story on SB, nothing has really been changed so far between both sites, though that might change going forward. Currently, I intend to post old chapters here on a regular basis until caught up with the original SB thread, so expect weirdly regular updates (if only for a while).

“It’s unfortunate that you were promised a power that was never truly yours.”  
  
The piercing burn of shame and desperation shot through me just as painfully as the glass arrow in my heel. No matter what I could do, I couldn’t stand, couldn’t fight. The ever-present comfort of my aura was gone, broken, for the first time since I was a child.  
  
So much for the Invincible Girl.  
  
No pain from any bodily wound could hurt so badly.  
  
_I had failed_.  
  
Beacon was in ruins, my team scattered across Vale. Penny, the robot girl-- _Ruby’s friend._ I had killed her. She had seemed so alive when the few times I saw her, so full of hope and excitement at the beginning of our match.  
  
She had seemed so terrified as my semblance wrapped her own wires around her and pulled. Pulled, and _ripped_. The fear in her eyes had been real, robot or no. She had had an aura, she had been a person. And I had killed her. I had killed her when I had not meant to, driven mad by fear, seeing things that might not have even been there.  
  
I had killed an innocent girl on accident, but even when I pulled out everything I had, used my semblance to a degree I had never done before, I could barely even hurt the golden eyed, dark haired woman in front of me.  
  
She had started this. She had attacked Amity. She had let in the Grimm. She had killed the old Fall Maiden, and used her power to kill Professor Ozpin.  
  
How many more were dying out there in the streets, to the White Fang and the Grimm, because of this woman’s plan?  
  
How many more would die because I had failed to stop her?  
  
At least Jaune will be safe, I reassured myself as tears dropped onto the steel of the floor below. I had been able to ensure that much, sending him away in the locker. That kiss, my first--my last-- still burned on my lips. Why had I been such a fool, such a coward, to not approach him sooner, never make my intentions known, let him run off chasing Weiss who clearly didn’t care for him. No one had cared for him like I did, no one else saw that spark of potential, no one else put in half as much time to nurture it and watch it grow. Did I not deserve some happiness in exchange?  
  
It was a stupid thing to think about, considering the circumstances. I couldn’t help myself.  
  
Just another regret to add to the others bearing down on my broken soul as the distinct clink of glass against glass draw nearer.  
  
“But take comfort in knowing,” surprisingly soft and gentle fingers glided across my jawline, tilting my chin up to look into the woman’s golden eyes, “that I will use it in ways you never could have imagined.”  
  
Her eyes positively gleamed with her triumph, her pride in what she had accomplished. Such genuine joy at what she had done.  
  
I had fought Grimm since I was twelve years old, and seen enough videos and pictures of abandoned villages and destroyed homes to think that I had known what a true monster looked like. Inhuman, with black fur, spiked armor and masks of bone and red eyes glowing like the hottest furnace of hell. Shadow and fear given form out of a child’s nightmare.  
  
How could I have been so blind? The real monster was beautiful. The most desirable woman, she could have been the envy of the entire world, the perfect image of what a huntress should be. Perfect in poise, grace, dress, manner, and skill with weapons and semblance. All of it nothing more than the silk wrappings over a core of the darkest and most vile ambition. That was what shone through in her eyes most of all, that lust for power, that desire to dominate all others as she had dominated me.  
  
I tried not to imagine what devastation this woman might wreak with the powers she had put on display here, but I couldn’t stop them from bubbling up to the surface. Thoughts of homes, entire cities going up in flames, fleeing survivors hunted down and savaged by the grimm like the worst nightmares from the Great War leapt to mind. Each scene came with a flash of shame, knowing that I was at least partly responsible. If I had just agreed to Professor Ozpin’s request sooner, and taken the other half of the maiden’s power, not let my fear rule me and been a true champion and warrior, would I have been able to beat her? To stop this, stop this power, magic, _true magic_ , from falling into the hands of this murderous madwoman?  
  
And here she was, almost caressing my face, looking down into my eyes with a new look of surprisingly sincere pity.  
  
My resolve reformed, eyes hardening as I pulled away from the woman’s grasp. No, just because I failed doesn’t mean the others will as well. I thought of my friends, the only friends I had made in years ever since mother first began training me. Of Team RWBY and their boundless enthusiasm to fight for what was right. Of calm and cunning Ren, of strong and unstoppable Nora. Of Jaune.  
  
Oh, dear, sweet Jaune, whose aura had shone like the sun and nearly burned when placed against my own in that first, glorious moment of its release. The goofy, kind hearted boy who had the potential to grow _so much_ with the right guidance and drive.

He would have to find someone else to guide him, now. That thought hurt the most, that I would never see the huntsman he might become.  
  
  
I had to keep faith, that no matter what happened here and now, atop this tower, good would prevail in the end. This woman would not break me. She could take my life here and now, but I would remain defiant. Though the shadow of death loomed over me, I would face it, head up and eyes open, as the Nikos had before the armies of the Emperor of Mistral so many centuries ago. I am Pyrrha Nikos, champion, student of Beacon Academy, member of Team JNPR and partner to Jaune Arc. I owed it to myself and all those I hold dear.  
  
There was a certain sweet feeling, a kind of deep assurance in my soul, that came with staring down death. I had stood, I had fought, and though I had fallen, I did not retreat when my time came.  
  
The question I had asked Jaune, when he had come to comfort me at the fairgrounds after Professor Ozpin had first told me of the Fall Maiden sprung to mind, then. A hope, and a promise.  
  
_When I think of destiny, I don’t think of a predetermined fate you can’t escape. But rather, some sort of final goal._  
  
A goal now out of my grasp. But one that the others, my friends, could achieve. Would achieve. I was sure of it.  
  
I had to be.  
  
“Do you believe in destiny?”  
  
The woman looked down at me then, eyes narrowing, and I could almost swear that I saw the faintest sign of tears forming in the corners of the woman’s eyes. She replied with a single word.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
The Fall Maiden straightened, took a step back, and I was suddenly reminded of those words I had spoken in the Emerald Forest, when I had laid my aura against Jaune’s own dormant one, waking it to its grand purpose. The Mantra of the Warrior, an old catechism of my people, used to focus the mind and soul for incredible tasks.  
  
A rite of passage for the young and brave.  
  
A guide for life.  
  
A funeral chant, spoken as the bodies of heroes were laid on the pyre.  
  
A preparation for death.  
  
  
_For it is in passing that we achieve immortality._  
  
  
My murderer raised her arms above her head.  
  
  
I remembered Jaune’s smile, the feel of his face under my hand, that first pulse of brilliant white as my aura called to his.  
  
  
_Through this we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all._  
  
  
Shards of glass formed a bow and arrow in her hands.  
  
  
My mother, when she first placed the spear in my hand, the look of pride mingled with a deep sadness I had not been old enough to understand as she spoke the words, and I felt the rush of my aura fill me, surrounding and comforting me for the first time.  
  
  
I felt like I understood that look, now.  
  
  
_Infinite in distance and unbound by death._  
  
  
I could have sworn I heard a noise off my left, like someone was scrambling up the side of the tower, but I could not turn, could not look away from the death that awaited me as the Maiden’s bow lowered.  
  
  
The string was loosed.  
  
  
The arrow flew.  
  
  
**_Pain._**  
  
  
I gasped. Agony like I had never experienced lanced through my chest, through my ribs, through my heart. It thrummed through me like my entire body was a single cord on a lyre, that single note I was playing one of intense agony. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, could only kneel, vainly try to lift my arms, only gasp as my last breaths escaped me.  
  
  
I could feel my strength flee, as if it was pulled out of me through the shaft in my chest. My arms fell, and I leaned forward as the Fall Maiden stepped towards me, once more taking my head in her hand, caressing my face. And once more, pain arced through my body.  
  
  
Everything turned orange, then red, then white, and I crumbled, fading away to a place beyond pain.  
  
  
And in my mind, another voice, calm, kind, masculine, alien, a voice I had never heard before in my life, yet sounded vaguely familiar somehow.  
  
  
_**I release your soul, and by my shoulder, protect thee.**_  
  
  
And in that white space, I thought I saw a vision, a series of snapshots, each passing sooner than the last. The twisting, molten length of a golden dragon seemingly composed entirely of light, the outline of a man with antlers composed of the same substance. And then my view widened, and shifted, as if I beheld all of space and time in a great fractal spider web of crystalline structures connecting worlds and universes, bending the very powers of creation and destruction to its will, an ever expanding harvest of souls and information as the great worms tunneled through space and realities. Another golden man, but this one in detail, hornless and bearded, clothed in a bloodstained white bodysuit and wearing a cape--  
  
  
And then…  
  
  
_**Breath.**_


	2. Breath 1.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here the story really starts...

_—Breath—_

  
I gasped.  
  
Fingers in my hair, pulling.  
  
My lungs couldn’t inflate fully, and I coughed.  
  
Breathing hurt.  
  
Weight, hands and knees, pinning my arms, keeping my head in place.  
  
A weight on my stomach and ribs, rough asphalt and gravel grinding into my back.  
  
Somewhere behind me, a man shouting.  
  
And a knife was tracing its way across my face.  
  
My eyes opened as I gasped again, and looked around. Faces loomed above me. They appeared to be ethnically Mistralian, like Lie Ren, but held none of the calm comfort and self assurance of my friend’s face. These were hard, cruel, scarred and weathered expressions, most of all the one currently straddling me, missing teeth in his snarl of a mouth, a green bandana folded over his left eye.  
  
The one that was currently holding the knife.  
  
Behind him, a girl that looked to be about my age in a fancy red jacket, with a nose ring and purple eyeshadow.  
  
And behind _her_ , a dark figure in a hood and cloak crouched on the hood of a large car. Not doing anything, just… watching. A huntress? Why wasn’t she helping me?  
  
Where was I? Who were these people? Did they have any idea who I am, what they were getting themselves into with me?  
  
What was I doing here?  
  
Was this a nightmare… or had the nightmare been atop Beacon Tower, staring down a woman with the power of a god as she stabbed into my heart and burned me to ashes?  
  
The one eyed man spoke, slowly scraping the blade against the skin of my face, almost gently. “One eye, the nose, the mouth, or both ears. Yan here thinks she has what it takes to be a _member_ , instead of a common whore, so you choose one of the above, and she goes to town on the part in question, proves her worth.”  
  
Behind him, the girl practically gigled. “Holy shit, Lao, that’s fucked up.” She didn’t sound like a normal person, shocked and scared at the idea of mutilating another human being. She sounded… almost giddy with anticipation, like she had finally gotten her chance at something she had wanted for a long time.  
  
For the briefest second as I stared up at that face staring down at me, framed with dark hair, it looked like her dark eyes flashed golden.  
  
For the briefest second, I burned.  
  
I felt my aura surge around me, a warm, comforting crimson rage. How dare these people treat me, treat _anyon_ e like this? Monsters. Grimm in human form.  
  
The thug with the knife’s remaining eye seemed to widen for a moment as my aura came back online. I felt a small moment of satisfaction at the fear in his eye.  
  
The dark figure on the roof remained still and impassive. That was fine. These people were nothing compared to who I had just fought. I was Pyrrha Nikos, four time champion of the Mistral Regional Youth Tournament, defeated only once in direct combat. I had taken teams of huntsmen trainees down without breaking a sweat. I had fought elder grimm with my team at my side.  
  
These monsters didn’t stand a chance.  
  
I reached out with my semblance, feeling for the metal around me, more than a dozen knives in the hands of those surrounding me, as well as a length of chain, a pipe, and the unmistakable shape of a gun in one of the further men’s waistbands. Beyond that, a few crushed cans, and the outline of the car and some kind of large metal box, most likely a dumpster, beyond it.  
  
For my entire career, I had kept my semblance a secret, feeding the image of the Invincible Girl with slight nudges of incoming weapons and being able to feel attacks coming from behind, but otherwise held back to keep my enemies from knowing what its limits and weaknesses were.  
  
The only enemy I cared about already knew. I felt no need to hold back.  
  
I said nothing as I flared my power, ripping weapons from hands and flinging them against the walls of the brick buildings hemming us in on either side.The point of the blade pressing into my cheek would have cut across my face if my aura hadn’t risen to catch and turn it, and it spun like a top before embedding itself into the car door to his right. His eye had turned from fear to full on panic as he scrambled off of me, putting an arm out to his side like he was warding away the girl behind him. “Shit!” he swore, looking around himself at his companions like he was looking for a way past them to escape, “she’s a cape!”  
  
I rubbed a bruise I felt forming against my cheek as I rose shakily to my feet. I would have liked to have leapt up confidently, but for some reason my muscles didn’t seem to be cooperating like they normally did. I felt weak, weaker than I had been when I first entered Sanctum, nearly as weak as the first time my mother had knocked me to my back in our first spar. My eye-level was all wrong too, I noted as I straightened to my full height. I was looking the thug and the girl behind him in the eyes, but I had the feeling that ordinarily I should have been nearly a head taller than both of them.  
  
None of this mattered, of course. I must have just been disoriented.  
  
Behind me, I could feel the metal in the gun move quickly, and I was able to form an easy mental picture of the owner pulling it out from behind his back and leveling it at my head. That wouldn’t do. Regardless of how my body felt, my aura and semblance worked as well as they ever had. I pulled slightly, and the weapon flew out of his grip and into my own. With a half second to look the pistol over, I found the switch to drop the clip before pulling back the slide, letting the round in the chamber pop out the top and clink quietly against the hard paved ground beneath us. I let the gun itself follow, dropping it unceremoniously at my feet.  
  
I did my best to be intimidating as I spoke, standing straight and surveying the men in red and green around me. “I have had a very trying day, and I’m not exactly in my right mind. If you would not mind telling me where we are, and what exactly you all were trying to do to me, I might consider letting you leave without facing the consequences of your actions.”  
  
My voice was all wrong, more wrong than my height and the lack of familiar strength. It was light, breathy and completely unfamiliar to my own ears, sounding young and strained. It cracked on the last handful of words, dashing any hopes that the offer itself would have any hint of intimidation in it.  
  
“Bitch!” the only apparent girl in the group shouted at me, eyes full of anger and hate. She ducked under the arm of the one eyed man, Yao, grabbing a discarded butterfly knife from the asphalt and rushing towards me.  
  
I fell into an unarmed combat stance. Sure, as a huntress and champion duelist, most of my training had been with the spear, sword, shield and rifle, but the presence of any of those could never be fully relied on. Thus, my mother had taught me pankration and several other forms of unarmed self defence at an early age.  
  
This girl had no such training, and if my body didn’t respond as quickly or move as smoothly as I would have liked, it was still far more than I would have needed to intercept the girl’s clumsy attempt at a stab. I grabbed her wrist and twisted, while my other hand found the outside of her elbow and pushed, using her own weight and momentum against her.  
  
I felt, rather than heard, the vibration of something crunch beneath my fingers as I leveraged the girl’s arm and threw her past me. She screamed, and for a moment I allowed myself to be surprised. The girl hit the asphalt between two of her fellow gang members, face down, voice only barely muffled as she continued to yowl in pain.  
  
“You…” I started, then shook my head. “You don’t even have your auras unlocked, but you thought you could face me?” My voice quavered a little bit, somewhere between the verge of laughter and the verge of tears.  
  
What kind of idiot criminals were they?  
  
I heard a crunch of shoe sole on asphalt and whirled as two more of the thugs rushed at me. This pair hadn’t attempted to take back their weapons, instead coming at me with bare fists.  
  
They were a little better than the girl had been, some small level of martial arts training evident in their stances and how quickly they lashed out at me. I had seen much better from twelve year olds in my first year at Sanctum.  
  
I wove between the blows before striking out, delivering a sharp kick to the inside of the knee of the first man before driving an elbow into the second’s jaw. I heard more snaps and cracks, but did not worry overmuch. Aura or no, these men were dangerous, at least to those also without aura, and at the moment I wasn’t feeling particularly merciful to people who thought that they could do the grimm’s work for them.  
  
The one I had kicked in the knee staggered forward, and I picked him up and hurled him bodily into his companion, both of them together smashing a third of their number into a wall. With a flick of my wrist, I lifted the discarded knives from the ground and took some inspiration from a girl I had fought recently, making them form a circle, hilts to the center, blades facing out, and letting it wheel it’s way around my head like the demented halo of an angel of battle.  
  
Those I faced who saw me rushed to their feet and fled down the alley, away from the car and the barricade behind it, leaving their incapacitated comrades behind. Cowards. Part of me, a part I thought I had put to sleep long ago, wanted to chase after them, to hurt them like they had wanted to apparently hurt me, like they had no doubt hurt so many others.  
  
The sound of fighting behind me was all that stopped me.  
  
The huntress in the black cloak had finally decided to join in. I saw the rest of the gang members that hadn’t already run moaning or unconscious, scattered around the alleyway like so many broken dolls as the shadowy figure stalked forward, driving the one-eyed thug to back up against the door of the large car. Her back was to me, but I could see the man’s panic in his uncovered eye as he tripped while trying to get past the vehicle. The cloaked figure knelt down as the man fell, and with a short jerk pulled the knife I had embedded in the vehicle out of the metal of the door and placed it against the criminal’s cheek.  
  
She might have said something, but I didn’t hear it over the sound of the man’s scream as she slashed the blade through his remaining eye.  
  
I blanched. The sound he made shook me, as much or more than the blood now pouring down his face. The huntress, on the other hand, seemed completely unperturbed as she dropped the blade to the ground and turned to face me.  
  
Well, that might not be the right word. She was wearing some kind of mask, made of metal and plastic with only the brown of her eyes visible. She cocked her head at me and I let the knives above my head tumble to the street below as well.  
  
“You’re not what I expected,” she said, voice shockingly young sounding. Was she even younger than me? The thought that someone that age could do something like she had just done so casually chilled my blood. “You’ve got some fight in you, not like these pieces of trash,” she continued, kicking the leg of one of the downed criminals for emphasis.  
  
“I feel like maybe we could work together. If you want to meet up again in the future, come and find me.” The huntress swept her cape to the side, and in the moment that it obscured her she went transparent, almost some kind of living shadow. She then stepped back, appearing to phase through the car behind her, and disappeared completely from view.  
  
An interesting semblance, that was for sure. It would definitely be useful in a fight.  
  
I let out the breath I had only just realized I had been holding.  
  
I looked down at my hands, and realized how unfamiliar they appeared. There was a reason that “know it like the back of my hand” was an expression, but as I twisted these around, waving the fingers in front of my face, they were entirely unknown to me. They were completely without the callouses that I had built up over years of combat training, seeming far too small, far too delicate to be my own.  
  
That scared me. The pieces of a puzzle began to fall into place, my height, my voice, my hands, the lack of strength and coordination in my body… it all meant…  
  
The familiar, comforting red glow of my aura, _my aura_ , surrounded this pair of unfamiliar hands in front of my face, and I was suddenly struck with the urge to vomit.  
  
This shouldn’t be possible.  
  
Where was I?  
  
 _Who_ was I?  
  
I felt a hand press down on my shoulder from behind me, and I was so startled by the fact that I had let myself be distracted and allowed a potential enemy to sneak up on me that I failed to comprehend the words the voice had said. The same voice I had heard shouting earlier, when I came to.  
  
I whirled around and leapt backward, putting a few feet between myself and the attacker, and only just held myself back from a counter attack as I looked up and saw the fear and concern in the large, red-headed man’s blue eyes. He looked like he had been knocked around, with a few bruises of his own and a cut on his forearm that was bleeding lightly, but he also looked like he didn’t care about any of that as he looked down at me.  
  
“Emma,” he said, and I only now realized that he was repeating what he had been saying as he touched me on the shoulder, voice ragged and hoarse, clearly full of emotion, “Emma, baby, are you alright? Are you hurt?”  
  
I looked him in the eye, and he blinked, concern replaced with confusion for a moment. “Emma, what happened to your eyes?”  
  
I couldn’t continue to hold his gaze, instead turning on my heel and frantically trying to find a window in the car behind me that was unbroken enough to serve as a reflection. It was faint, and slightly distorted, but I found what I was looking for.  
  
Familiar green eyes stared back at me from an unfamiliar face. The face of a girl much younger than me, maybe about thirteen, who had red hair that was more orange than true red, who had some of that hair clearly carved away from around her right temple, who looked just faintly enough like the real me to be eerie without actually looking like she was related to me at all.  
  
Behind me, the man found his voice. “Emma, please honey, tell me what’s wrong?”  
  
I couldn’t break the gaze of the stranger I saw in the reflection of the car window.  
  
I took a breath, and in a quiet, almost broken whisper, I asked myself, “Who is Emma?”  
  
Because she certainly wasn’t Pyrrha Nikos.


	3. Breath 1.3

— _Breath—_

Pressure continued to build in my head as the light shone directly in my eye. The rubbery gloved fingers kept my eyelids from closing, and my eyes started to water slightly before the paramedic allowed it to close after checking my pupil.

The woman turned, pulling off her gloves as she spoke to the large, red-haired man. The man that did not take too great a leap to guess was most likely Emma's father.

"I haven't been able to determine any normal signs of a concussion, but with a situation like this it wouldn't be wise to rule anything out." Emma's father nodded at the paramedic's words, while I continued to stare ahead dully.

"It's possible that she's undergoing a pretty severe psychological shock. I wouldn't blame her either, but psychology isn't really my field." The woman slid the small flashlight into one of the pouches on her belt along with the gloves. Behind her and Emma's father, a pair of other paramedics rolled away one of the gang members on a secured stretcher, overseen by multiple police officers.

It had felt like it had been hours since I woke up on the ground of the alley. Time was hard to process, it seemed like each second took a minute to pass, and the pulsing throb behind my eyes certainly didn't help anything. I felt a ringing in my ears, different from the kind that came from firing a gun in an enclosed space. It was unnerving, especially since I could tell by the fact that none of the other people rushing back and forth seemed to hear it.

Had I gone mad?

Was this the afterlife?

Had I reincarnated and forgotten the thirteen years of my life before this attack, only to be replaced by a past life?

Was I actually this Emma girl, and this moment of trauma had caused me to hallucinate my memories of Mistral, my mother, Beacon, _Jaune?_

I pulled the blanket the medical technicians had given me tighter against my shoulders. No. I still had my eyes, and more importantly, my aura and semblance. _My soul._ No matter what, that was definitive proof that I was, in fact, still Pyrrha.

But that still left me at square one, so far as determining what in the world was going on.

Had my soul taken over the body of this poor girl? Robbed her of her life and future in her moment of greatest fear and weakness?

Had I inadvertently killed an innocent?

_Again?_

Emma's father and the paramedic continued to talk to each other as if I was not there. In a way, that was true. I had determined while waiting for emergency services to arrive that the less I said and reacted to what was going on around me, the less likely I was to give away what was really wrong. That I was not who they thought I was. Not who I was supposed to be.

Feigning catatonia gave me time to think.

The paramedic's badge patch on the front of her uniform had said "Brockton Bay Fire and Rescue" on it. I didn't recognize the name of the city, but based on the name it sounded like I was still in Vale. Possibly Atlas, but it felt far too warm. The buildings around us seemed too large, the police and medical services too well organized for this to be some kind of out the way frontier town. So, most likely a coastal trading port like Argus. But then why didn't I recognize the name? I was not so lax in my studies to simply forget about someplace that would have to qualify as one of the top five cities in the kingdom I was moving to.

That line of thought would have to wait as my ears perked up. I looked over and saw that a third man had came up to Emma's father and the paramedic. He moved in a way that suggested combat training, was built like an experienced fighter, and his uniform was subtly different from those of the police officers busily arresting the less-injured criminals left over after the fight. Darker, sharper cut, different insignia. A huntsman working in law enforcement, maybe?

"Sir, I understand that you've already given your statement to the police," the new man said, stance easy and face made up in what I could only describe as a well-practiced disarming expression. Not quite a smile, that could be misconstrued as condescending, or worse of taking delight in the victim's suffering, but certainly friendly and reassuring in a "I'm strong enough to keep you safe" sort of way. Emma's father -I really need to learn his real name- crossed his arms over his chest. "However, I feel it's important to stress that we would really appreciate an additional statement on the vigilante who rescued you and your daughter."

I could see Emma's father's posture stiffen. "Because you and the police weren't there, and let these ABB thugs roam the streets and attempt to abduct children in broad daylight."

A less disciplined man than the police huntsman might have winced, but the man maintained his sturdy half-smile. "This vigilante has been active in the area for a few months now, any information that we could use to track her down would be greatly appreciated." He had his hands clasped loosely over his sternum. I noted the hand position that looked helpful and non-threatening, but was at a level to easily intercept an incoming strike. It looked subconscious, clearly well practiced just like everything else about the man. "This wasn't the worst she's hurt people in that time, and you could certainly argue that many of them didn't deserve it as much as those here did."

Emma's father retained the tension in his shoulders, but he slumped forward at least a little bit, seeming slightly mollified. "What do you want to know?"

The officer's smile seemed a little bit more genuine. "Anything you might be able to tell me about her powers, tactics, any details that stuck out to you."

The larger of the two men shook his head. "I was being held down by one of the those thugs for most of the time, I didn't get a great view of the fight until it was almost over. But she absolutely took them apart, didn't seem interested in holding back at all. You can see the results yourself." Emma's father paused. "She moved fast, and every so often when one of them tried to hit her it looked like she turned into a ghost and it went right through her. Beyond that, I was just struck by how small she was. Didn't look much older than my girl, certainly not more than an inch taller. If she's an adult, she's definitely petite."

The officer nodded, and it was then that I noticed that he appeared to have some kind of microphone recording device attached to the lapel of his uniform shirt. "Anything you might have been able to tell about why she intervened?"

Emma's father shook his head. "Like I said, I didn't see the beginning of the fight."

The look of how the huntress had sat perched on the roof of the car flashed to mind as the two talked. The way she had simply watched, still as some kind of stalking cat lying in wait, the only part of her moving was the hood and tail of her cloak ruffling slightly in the breeze. The brutality that she had exhibited on the man who had threatened to mutilate odd note of approval in her voice when she spoke to me, offered to team up if I could meet the challenge of finding her.

Before I could think better of it, I spoke up. The pain in my head flared, and I spoke through gritted teeth, quiet, just barely loud enough to be heard.

"She was just sitting on the car for what felt like a long time, just watching me as they held me down." The officer perked up at my words, and Emma''s father turned, surprise evident at hearing my voice for the first time since the police had arrived. "It seems…" my voice stalled and I swallowed the pain as it tried to dig its way out of my skull. I almost bit down on my tongue before struggling to continue. "It seemed like she was waiting for something. Waiting for me to fight back, maybe."

Emma's father met my eye and nodded, once. "Must have gotten bored of waiting and decided to jump in. I have to say, I'm grateful for it. I'm terrified of what might have happened if she hadn't." Something in his expression seemed to change, growing grim, stone faced. A hard glint in his eye.

It took me a long moment to think through the pain to what exactly he was saying, and what he was trying to signal to me through implication. He wanted the huntress to take all of the blame, or maybe all of the credit, for what had happened here? I guess it made sense. I was passingly familiar with Vale's laws regarding self defense by someone with aura against those without it, but a lot of those criminals had been pretty badly injured. I had broken more than a couple of bones, the huntress had done… worse. It would make sense for a father to keep whatever repercussions might come from that from falling on his daughter.

Then, between pulses of pain, another thought.

Emma did not seem to be the kind of girl who was going to enter a combat school. She probably did not have her aura awakened, much less a semblance.

What exactly had her father seen?

More importantly, what did he _think_ he had seen?

Whatever it was, he knew that he was lying when he said that the huntress had taken on the thugs herself, and was trying to signal to me to play along.

I needed to gather more information about this place and these people before I did anything. Emma's father must have known something I did not. Considering that I didn't even know where I was that was not exactly a high bar, but trusting his judgement was pretty much my only option at this point.

The officer nodded slowly, expression unreadable as he looked me over. I could not continue to meet his gaze and turned away, pulling my knees up to my chest and staring at my shoes. Emma's shoes. They were nice, if scuffed by the encounter with the criminals, asphalt dust and mud staining what had once been the pure white laces.

Emma's father and the investigator continued to speak as I thought things over, still not an easy task as the headache continued to build. Maybe I should have taken the paramedic's offer of taking a trip to the hospital.

The police were looking for the huntress in the dark cloak and mask. That was an important detail. I could admit that I had the tendency to be naive, but even I was aware that not everyone used their huntsman training to fight the grimm or help stabilize society. Roman Torchwick was proof of that, not to mention the White Fang and the entourage of the woman in red. There was money and power to be made by strong fighters with powerful semblances in the criminal underworld.

That didn't strike me as right though, in this case. She might have taken her sweet time to try and help me against my attackers, but she _had_ helped. Not the sort of thing a huntress who had embedded herself in the underworld would have done.

A vigilante made more sense. It explained the mask, if nothing else. It certainly was not the style a member of the White Fang would wear, and it was unlikely that one would intervene to save a human from a gang of other humans. But wouldn't it have been easier to just work with the police? It wasn't hard to get police credentials for huntsmen or combat school graduates, and full huntsmen often had provisional and emergency law enforcement powers if they needed to intervene in a crime, like that ghost girl had done.

So why put on the mask and pick off auraless criminals? Why dress up like someone out of one of Jaune's comic books?

I knew one way I could get my answers. She wanted to meet me again, had challenged me to find her. I pulled my legs tighter against my chest, finally feeling a sense of resolve. As soon as I figured out what exactly my situation was with Emma and her family, I would look for this vigilante, find out what she could teach me.

My headache spiked again, and I winced, gritting my teeth.

Time continued to pass in that little alleyway with little notice from me.

I had so many questions, but I could not think of a way to ask them without raising suspicion even further. Beyond where I was, who Emma was, how I had gotten here. Even more basic than that. What kind of city had gang members robbing ordinary citizens in the middle of the day?

What about Beacon? Had the Grimm in the city been contained? Were the civilians safe? Were my friends? My teammates?

_Jaune?_

To say that I was brooding between the painful pulses of my headache would have been an understatement. I positively _stewed_. I failed to notice how dark it had gotten by the time I felt a light touch on my elbow. I looked up into the deeply concerned face of Emma's father. I had faked enough smiles in my time to appreciate how hard he was trying. Trying to be comforting, to be nonchalant about what had happened, for his daughter's sake.

"We're free to go home, sweetheart. Your mom came to pick us up." He paused, then continued more quietly. "We'll be leaving my car here. It's not quite in shape to drive home in. I'll come back to pick it up later."

I glanced over at the vehicle. The only damage to it that I could see was the shattered window. If no damage had been done to the actual drive system or the wheels, then why…

Right. The look of concern, the false smile. I closed my eyes and pointedly avoided gritting my teeth through another slow spike of pain in my head. Not fit to drive home for my, or rather Emma's, sake, not because the vehicle was not functioning.

I nodded, slowly rising to my feet. Emma's father guided me to a car smaller than the one in the alley, lower to the ground with only four seats inside. A woman, pale and vaguely pretty under the layers of stress and makeup, stood outside the vehicle anxiously fondling an expensive looking wristwatch. She looked up and her eyes brightened for just a moment on seeing Emma's father, then lost that brightness almost immediately upon seeing me.

She stepped forward and wrapped me in an embrace. I did not resist or pull back; it would have been wrong to do so.

"Emma," she said, voice low and vibrating through me. The feeling was comforting. She laid her head on my shoulder, chin brushing the side of my neck. "Alan," she said as I felt another figure step behind us and surround me in yet another hug. "I'm just so glad both of you are safe."

I shuddered. The warmth, the concern, the tenderness. It was not mine, it belonged to Emma, the girl that I had displaced. I did not want, did not deserve, the embrace of these strangers. I wanted Ren's serene support, Nora's laughter, Jaune's arms… Gods below I would even accept what Mother referred to as affection at this point just to know that they were all safe, that I was back where I was meant to be.

But instead, I was here. Taking the love and concern meant for someone else, for another girl in crisis. Surrounded on all sides, ringed in. Trapped by it.

I did not resist or pull back; it would have been wrong to do so. For their sake. They deserved to comfort their daughter, if only to assuage their own fears.

As the group hug slowly broke up and I was guided to the back seat of the car, I looked up at the darkening twilight sky. The moon was rising. Full. Unbroken.

I felt a sinking in my chest.

The moon had been shattered during the battle. Now it was full again, presenting its unbroken side to Remnant.

How long had I been dead for? At best, at least a month. At worst?

This time the headache took me by surprise. Worse than before, with an edge that almost seemed… directed. Intentional. The ringing in my ears worsened, deafening, a storm of cymbals, crashing waves and splintering wood. Yet it seemed to contain a pattern, a structure I could not make out.

The pain flowed through me, and this time instinct took over. Red light washed over my body as my aura lit up, trying in vain to protect me from a danger that had already struck, was already inside me. It glowed, then… shimmered. Wavered. Not like it was broken, but like there was… interference. I almost saw what looked like some pale blue mix with the dark red for just a moment before the light vanished entirely. Not shattered, not broken. I could still feel the well of power inside of me, ready to be brought forth. Was it larger than before?

A gasp from the front of the car. "Emma!" the woman, now in the front passenger seat, exclaimed as she turned back to look at me. She looked me up and down, as if searching for the aura shell that had just evaporated. Her gaze locked with mine before I could turn away. Her eyes widened.

"Green," Emma's mother whispered. "Emma, honey, what happened to your eyes?"

She had seen. Aura, the manifestation of the soul, and the eyes that were windows to it. She knew that I wasn't her daughter no matter what my face and body tried to say. She had to. How could she not?

She had _seen_.

"Zoe." The single word had a significant weight to it. Alan stared forward through the windshield, arms locked on the steering wheel. I could not see, but I could imagine his knuckles were white. "Emma has just had a very difficult day, to put it _extremely mildly_. I think it would be best for all of us to go home, get some food, sleep, and approach the events of today with a fresh face and a bit of distance."

Even though I avoided her gaze, I could see Emma's moth-Zoe-nod slowly along with her husband's words. There seemed to be an unspoken undercurrent, both to what Alan had said and what Zoe had not, but I was too tired and too head blighted to bother putting in the effort to working it out.

I cinched my seatbelt around my waist and across my chest. Aura or not, safety came first. Then I collapsed in on myself as the car pulled out.

If I had had more energy I would have looked around as we drove through town, attempted to get my bearings. Gathered clues to puzzle out exactly where this "Brockton Bay" was and how long exactly I had been dead.

If I had more guile, I would have learned more about Emma and her family by subtly questioning her parents in a way that would not give away that someone else was wearing their daughter's face. That would have been productive. It would let me lie more effectively, convince these people that I was Emma, the girl they knew, and that any observed changes in my personality were simply the result of trauma. They might never know that their little girl was truly gone.

I closed my eyes and leaned back into the seat. It was really quite comfortable, soft with the right amount of support.

My chance at pulling off a convincing lie was likely already completely shot by both of them witnessing my abilities to one degree or another. The sudden onset of aura could probably be explained, that was known to occasionally occur in incidents of high stress. My seemingly sudden fighting prowess was a Grimm of another mask, unfortunately. Maybe someone truly clever, like Professor Ozpin, could concoct a method of explaining that away. He might even be able to do so convincingly. My own ability to pull something like that off was more dubious. The deck was already stacked against me. The only person I had ever been good at lying to was myself.

The ride to Emma's family home passed in still silence, too calm to be truly tense, yet too serious to be simply awkward.

If I was a better, more diplomatic person, maybe I would have spent the trip formulating how exactly to explain the situation to Alan and Zoe. By all appearances so far they were good people, and they deserved the truth about their daughter. They would be heartbroken, but they would know. They would work it out soon anyway, if they had not already. Coming clean would ease the heartache for all of us.

But unfortunately for practicality, cunning, or honesty, dying was exhausting. As I closed my eyes I began to doze off.

I dreamed of unfulfilled promises, bloodstained glass, and cinders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think! As stated previously old chapters will continue to be cross-posted here regularly, until I'm fully caught up with the original (and hopefully by then there'll be even more chapters), possibly daily but I won't make any promises.


	4. Breath 1.4

— _Breath—_

I jolted awake as I felt a tap on my shoulder, inhaling a sharp breath that still smelled like smoke. It was all I could do to not slam my aura-enhanced fist into the solar plexus of the one attacking me before I realized that it was Zoe.

Looking at her now, I could see that she was indeed more beautiful than I had previously thought. Graceful cheekbones, a delicate jaw, full lips and practically no signs of wrinkles or gray hairs. It was hard to tell how old she was compared to Mother. She had never seemed to age in all my time with her, if only because she had always seemed to be composed entirely of iron and worn leather, eschewing all but the most basic cosmetics even for my most public appearances. But I'd also heard that aura and a healthy diet and exercise could really do a lady wonders, keeping huntresses youthful and beautiful long past civilians.

If that were true to the extent that the magazines whose covers I had appeared on claimed, then Mother probably had two to three decades on Zoe.

Unlike her daughter and husband, she had a carefully trimmed river of dirty-blonde hair falling down her back, but similarly blue eye. Her makeup was immaculate, and I only just now noticed how expensive the stones in her earrings must be. They looked to possibly be of nearly equal value of the emeralds in my circlet-

I cut myself off from that line of thought before it could spiral out of control. That headdress had been worn for centuries by the champions of the Nikos clan, and now for all I knew the woman in red had melted it down for scrap. I could not tell whether the thought made me want to seethe or cry.

My runaway train of thought was cut off-for real this time- by the feeling of long fingernails slowly tracing their way across my scalp on the side of my head. Thankfully, this did not make my mind jump straight back to my murderer. The gesture was comforting, the touch made me shiver.

"Oh honey," Zoe said in a tone equal parts maternal concern and commiseration. "I know how much effort you put into your hair. Did they have to take that from you too?" A pang seemed to ripple through her as she realized what she had said, how she worried her daughter might take it. The fingers snapped away from my head.

I rubbed the place that Zoe had been tracing, feeling the ragged edge of what had once been luscious wavy locks. In spite of myself, I cracked my best approximation of a sardonic smile. "Yeah, I'm going to have to get this evened out, I guess." I looked her in the eyes, and to her credit she did not flinch away from a stranger's eyes in her daughter's face. I leaned in.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

Zoe blinked. It certainly was not what she was expecting.

I forced as much genuine cheer, and all of my image counselor's training, into the smile I gave her next. Conspiratorially, I stage whispered, "I was actually meaning to get a haircut for a while now. Now I finally have an excuse."

Zoe laughed. It was more from surprise than from genuine mirth, but it was a laughter all the same. That let my smile become a little bit more genuine.

Feeling that much more sure of myself, I got out of the car and to my feet. I gave Zoe a tight hug which she returned fiercely. One arm wrapped around my back, compressing my ribs, while the other draped lazily over my shoulder allowing her to run her fingers through my remaining hair.

Intellectually, I had always known that different families express themselves differently. That was most true in the case of displays of affection. But Zoe's physicality surprised me. She held me for a long moment, and then several more. When she spoke it was soft, like the gentle breeze between the trees in the forest of the Forever Fall.

"Baby, we'll get through this, no matter what."

Zoe was on the verge of tears, and my stomach plunged. Guilt. Was I a monster for leading her on like this? Perhaps. Even though I was more experienced in the company of monsters than I once had been, it was hard to tell.

Unexpectedly, I felt a lurch inside of me. I clung to Zoe as tightly as she did to me, but dared not go harder. Without aura to protect her, she might break.

That was the thought that had absorbed my mind by the time I realized that both of us were crying in the driveway of a rather large house. It was silly. Of course Zoe was crying, she had lost Emma but had yet to realize it. I was the one with an undeserved new lease on life. I should be ecstatic, not bawling my eyes out into another woman's designer blouse.

And yet.

Another long moment passed before I heard the sound of a distant door creaking open. I lifted my head to see Alan perching his head out of an interior door in the open garage. If anything, he looked slightly chagrined to have interrupted our mutual tear-staining.

"Why don't you both come inside? I've ordered some pizzas, the special ones with the peppers from Gino's. Why don't you come inside to take a shower and change into your PJ's while we wait."

It was only then that I realized how dirty and torn my clothing was. Tears in the fabric, black asphalt marks, not to mention loose pieces of gravel caught in inconvenient places. The skin of my arms and presumably my neck and face was hardly any better. Surprisingly enough getting violently shaken down in an unsanitary alley was likely to get one dirty. Who would have guessed?

I nodded, wiping my eyes with my sleeve and likely only worsening the problem. I turned back to Zoe. "Thank you," I said quietly. I gave her another quick hug, this time pulling away before she could reciprocate and trap me in the driveway for another eternity.

I stepped quickly through the garage and up the stairs to the door Alan had opened, and then paused as I crossed the threshold. On one side of me was a spacious kitchen with a shining stove top, and an island counter topped with marble or polished granite. On the other was a high-ceilinged living room dominated by a massive television screen and one of the plushest couches I had ever seen. The television gave me pause. Wouldn't a family as clearly wealthy as Alan and Zoe have switched an old fashioned flat-screen for a hologram projector by now?

I brushed the thought aside, looking beyond the living room to where a long stairway to the second floor met a hallway near what I surmised was the front entrance. And here was the trouble. Zoe had not appeared to have fully realized that I was not her daughter. Alan was a bit more of a mystery. How much was I likely to give myself away if I was unable to find my way to "my own" bedroom?

Zoe slipped in beside me and I took another step into the house. She glided over to where Alan was standing, both hands on the island countertop as if he was relying on it to prop himself up. She wrapped her arms around his middle from behind, significantly shorter than him, but at the same time they seemed to fit. It was a cute image. If only Jaune and I had been able to have moments like that.

That same lurch inside me struck, quickly followed up by another spike of the headache. Thank the gods this one was much weaker than the last, otherwise I might have collapsed to the floor in a writhing pile. I steeled myself and resolved to follow my gut instinct up the stairs while the parents were distracted.

Unlike the first floor, which was floored with polished hardwood that must have cost quite a few lien, the stairs and the second floor were carpeted with a plush savanah of shag carpeting. It almost seemed to swallow my too-small feet and ankles whole as I raced up the steps.

Upon reaching the landing, I was met with a pair of doors, one on either side of me, and a short hallway straight ahead.

Well, no points for not trying.

My left door was a storage closet. A vacuum cleaner, stacks of boxes of what appeared to be long-disused board games, winter coats and a pile of other suburban detritus threatened to bowl me over as it attempted to spill out of its confinement. I was just barely able to keep the deluge between the two doors, but it took a little bit of aura to actually push it back into place.

The door to the right was a bathroom, equally as fancy-looking and well maintained as the rest of the house. A thought dawned on me slowly. Was Alan or Zoe a member of the local Council? That would actually go quite the long way in explaining the motivation for the attack earlier. But ultimately, not enough to go on.

I had never been a great judge of wealth or luxury. The most experience I had with the trappings of either were the hotels my agent booked for matches in foreign kingdoms. Obviously this did not compare to that or the pictures I had seen of the Schnee estate in Atlas. But at the same time, in spite of our family fortune and the winnings from my matches and sponsorship deals, Mother had always kept our manor austere. Spartan. Perfectly balancing delicate and precise taste while maintaining a clear disdain for decadence.

Very traditional.

All that was to say that I had no idea exactly how wealthy the family actually was. The most recent housing I had to compare to was the dorms back at Beacon, which while not exactly luxurious in the allotment of space to teams were at least well maintained and furnished.

_The dorms that I had seen burning, collapsed, beowolves crawling up the walls and smashing into windows, nevermore and griffins filling the air-_

I caught myself, and took a step toward the hallway. Three more doors greeted me, one on my left and two on the right. Eliminating the left as likely being Alan and Zoe's room gave me a fifty-fifty shot at getting the correct room. Unless, of course, Emma's room was down the first floor hallway.

I picked the first door, and was finally met with success. The room screamed "tween girl" in a way that I had only ever been able to appreciate from movies. The decor was clearly mid-transition out of a princess phase and into an attempt at a "mature" design. The bedspread still had some superfluous ruffles, and a little built in shelf over the bed still held an assortment of teddy bears. But the desk and dresser in the corner were both very no-nonsense, and that side of the room was covered in posters.

I walked closer, inspecting the wall-hangings. The most scandalous one was a nearly life-size print of a lithely built man with messy brown hair dressed in a blue, agonizingly skintight suit and grey domino mask. In bold, energetic font, the word LEGEND was written diagonally behind the man, the G partially obscured by the man's tight abs.

Either Emma was a superhero nerd on par with Jaune, or she was in the full throes of pubescent hormones. On a second of reflection, likely both.

The other posters were much the same. Oh, there were a few of boybands, none of which I recognized, but the rest were all rather glossy stills of actors dressed in superhero outfits striking dynamic poses. A woman in gray, eyes obscured by a helmet, "Alexandria", sat right next to a bulky male figure in blue armor wielding what appeared to be a huntsman's mechashift halberd, simply entitled "Armsmaster."

Now, I was not the most pop-culture savvy person on Remnant. I had rarely had time for television or comics growing up, between my studies and training. But still, from the quality of the merchandise this seemed like the sort of franchise that Jaune would have at least brought up in conversation if not introduced me to. But I failed to recognize any of it.

My inspection of the posters brought me closer to the desk, which I now saw was lined with framed photographs. Now, here were some of my first real clues!

Only one was of Emma with her parents. That one included another, older red-headed girl that I almost mistook for Emma at first. But no, the nose and cheekbones were wrong. In this one, Emma was around nine or ten, from the looks of it. There was another with just her and the older girl making a sandcastle on a beach. Clearly an older sister. Why had I not met her yet?

The rest of the pictures were of Emma with friends. Of those, one recurring figure stood out. A twig-thin girl with a wild mane of black curls and owlish circular glasses that were slightly too big for her face. Whether in the woods, at the mall, at what appeared to be a six year old's birthday party, this other girl kept appearing. Over the length of time represented in the photos, and the breadth of locations, there were only a few that did not include her.

One in particular stood out. Emma and the other girl, probably a year or so in the past, carefully trying to work together at a pottery wheel. Standing between them, with a clay-stained hand on either girl's shoulder, was a woman that was as much the other girl's older copy as Emma's sister was to her. Same curly hair, willowy figure, and bright smile, but with a mouth just slightly less wide and without glasses. The look of pride on her face as she beamed down at the two girls hard at work almost made my heart ache. Clearly the other girl's mother, with as special a relationship to Emma herself. An aunt, perhaps? That would make the other girl a cousin, which would explain the apparent closeness.

I was suddenly struck by a deep sense of wrongness as I set the picture back down on the desk. I was an intruder, a creep, looking over this other girl's life and scouring it for details. What the paparazzi back in Mistral would have given to get this level of access to my room at home.

I felt sick.

Now that I found the right bedroom, I was stuck at a crossroads. Alan had recommended that I shower and change before dinner, but I could not help but think of that as an even greater invasion of Emma's privacy. The thought of removing her clothes turned my stomach.

I could just close the door and curl up in bed. Go back to sleep, or if that eluded me, fake it if Alan or Zoe came to investigate. It would certainly be a believable result of Emma's physically and emotionally exhausting day.

And then my stomach decided that no, actually, it was in fact quite hungry rather than nauseous. And it announced so. Loudly.

Hopefully Alan and Zoe had not heard it downstairs.

I sighed. Shower it was then.

Rifling through Emma's drawers for a set of pajamas to change into did not make me feel any less like a burglar. I settled on an outfit that looked comfortable and that still fit a growing girl. Gods above and below, why did I have to go through puberty a second time?

The less I say about the process of undressing and actually bathing myself, the better. Suffice to say that I did my best to respect Emma's body by avoiding looking at it more than absolutely necessary. Thankfully, my choice of pajamas was just as comfortable as they seemed, and by the time I had mostly dried my hair I could smell the distinct aroma of pizza wafting up the stairs.

I had only taken two steps down, however, before I stopped as I heard Zoe's voice. Harder than I had heard before, but not, from what I could tell, truly angry.

"I just got off the line with Anne. She's freaking out, saying that she's going to catch the first train home."

"Understandable," I heard Alan interject, "I'm a bit past freaking out myself."

Zoe's sigh echoed across the high ceiling. "I explained to her how well Emma seems to be dealing with it, how both of you only came out with scratches and bruises." I blinked then inspected my arms. Any sign of those were already gone, cleaned up easily by my aura. "But that didn't calm her down at all. She said she'll be in before midnight."

There was a long, pregnant pause. Then, tentatively, Alan spoke. "Do you want me to pick her up from the station? Emma should be asleep by then, if the ride back was any indication."

There was a loud smack of bare skin against stone. I jolted, and from the sound of it Alan did as well. "What I want, Alan Michael Barnes," Zoe said, now definitely pitching over the side into fully unrestrained anger, "is to know why you weren't as desperate as our eldest daughter to get our youngest what she needs!"

Another long, strained pause. "And what, exactly, is that?" Alan spoke slowly, deliberately.

"You know damn well what I mean, Alan!" Zoe raised her voice. "Why haven't you called the PRT?" The acronym hardly registered in my mind, completely unfamiliar. " I know what I saw! That red glow! Her eyes are a different color, Alan! Her eyes are green and she looks at me like I'm a complete stranger! I know I didn't hallucinate any of that, so don't you dare say that I did!"

Alan let out a pursed breath. Slowly, I inched my way forward down a few more steps in a sort of down-hill crab crawl. The argument was very useful for the purpose of gathering information, but downstairs was also where pizza was. I decided to split the difference between eavesdropping and hunger.

"Honey, I know you weren't seeing things. I saw it too, that and more." That chilled the temperature in the room very quickly. "I wasn't one-hundred percent with the police or PRT when they took my statement."

The sound of a glass being laid, gently, against granite. "And what, exactly, do you mean by that dear?" Her voice was only slightly warmer than I imagined the countertop was.

Alan let out another long, restrained breath. "That vigilante that showed up, think they're calling her Stalker something or other. She wasn't the only one to fight back against the ABB." Another useless three-character acronym I got the sense would be important to remember. "Emma fought back too. Hard."

The repeat sound of glass on stone, then pouring liquid.

"She broke another girl's arm. Bent it backwards at the elbow." A quiet gasp from Zoe. "Threw another guy at two of his thug buddies like bowling pins, and made a bunch of knives helicopter around her head without touching any of them."

This moment of silence was a lot longer.

"You know what the Triumvirate said, in their book?" Zoe had gone from thunderous to meek as a lamb. Skittish. Worried. "About how capes get their powers?" Capes? Powers? Strange regional jargon about aura and semblances?

I could visualize Alan nodding along. "Good experiences give good powers, bad experiences give bad ones. Yeah, I've heard it too." The distinct sound of a drink tossed back and swallowed quickly. "Granted, that was from an unofficial biography. PRT and Protectorate don't actually endorse that theory. From what I've heard, it's a bit more complicated than that." Another long silence, this one not accompanied by the pouring of another glass. "I heard a professor say that capes need to get broken down, so that the powers can worm their way in through the cracks. That a cape has to experience severe trauma, the worst day of their lives, and survive, and that the powers are a kind of psychological scar tissue. It changes your brain structure, from what I've heard."

"Alan," I could hear the tears in Zoe's voice, in that single word. A few steps of heels against hardwood. "What happened to our little girl?"

And it was at this moment that I either felt that it was appropriate to assert myself, or more likely, my stomach got completely tired of waiting any further. I stood and made my way down the remaining stairs with no attempt to avoid the creak of boards. I turned the corner around the stairs and crossed my arms across my chest. Alan and Zoe were both sitting at stools at the island, a brown bottle and two small glasses between them, a stack of pizza boxes laying forgotten off to the side.

Zoe was the first to recognize and acknowledge my presence. Her face was a false smile trying and failing to cover a worried grimace. "I'm sorry, honey. How much of that did you hear?"

I shrugged. "Some. Enough." I crossed the kitchen, not making eye contact with either of them, and flipped open the top box, letting the wave of hot, zesty air wash over my face. It had come pre-sliced, so I grabbed a slice without concern for a plate or how hot the food was. I took a bite.

Hot grease, cheese, and sauce. Exactly what I needed.

I could feel Alan and Zoe's eyes on me. I scarfed the slice down and went for another with greasy hands. Zoe sighed softly and slid a plate across the island, where it bounced off Mount Pizza and stopped.

I did them both the courtesy of actually using the plate.

I was tired, hungry, and had died only a few hours ago. Excuse me if my decorum slips a little under those conditions.

"Emma…" Alan said slowly, carefully. "Your mother and I have been talking."

I nodded, still not looking at him, and gave a grunt through a mouthful of cheese and peppers.

"You understand what happened today, don't you? Your," he paused, "trigger event?"

I nodded again, but I had no idea what they were talking about. I knew what traumatic triggers were, that basic level of field psychology is important when dealing with veteran hunters and frightened civilians, especially if caring for them in the wild for long stretches of time. And I had met more than a few hunstmen trainees that had gained access to their Aura and/or Semblance in a sudden moment of life or death need, rather than having it unlocked. That sounded like what they were talking about, but parts of it still did not fit. Sure, Nora gained the ability to get stronger from electricity after being struck by lightning, but that didn't make her Semblance tied to some deep trauma she relived every time she used it. More importantly, aura did not change your brain structure. If aura existed exclusively in the brain, or originated there, Altas scientists would have discovered that decades ago. Even that nightmarish soul transfer machine General Ironwood had brought worked on principles unrelated to the physical brain.

So, was Alan wrong, and much more ignorant than he seemed? Or, much more worryingly, was he talking about something _completely different_? Something real?

Capes. That word had stuck out at me as strange. Odd for a slang term for huntsmen. Maybe it was regional, maybe it only referred to huntsmen level fighters that did not actually engage the Grimm and instead stuck to dealing with city matters.

It was only then that I realized that Alan was still talking, had been talking the entire time I was ruminating while stuffing my famished face. I finally turned to look at Emma's parents. Zoe looked like she wanted to chastise me for my horrendous table manners, but was holding back because of the stress I had gone through. Alan looked completely serious, but beyond that was unreadable.

I accidentally pulled the cheese off of the slice with my teeth and had to stuff it in my mouth and chew before it fell on my pants. Even light aura use had the tendency to burn a lot of calories. I had no idea what the caloric impact of being burned alive and sent back in someone else's body might be, but regardless, I felt more than deserving of a cheat day.

I swallowed, then looked back at Alan. "Sorry, could you repeat that?"

The large man sighed, rubbing his eyelids. "I know its a really big thing to ask, especially so soon after…" he trailed off, fumbled for some words, went to take a shot from his glass only to find it empty, and then went to fill it. By the time he had actually knocked the shot back, he had found what he wanted to say. "I was planning on giving it a few days before we brought it up, to let things decompress and adjust, but the cat's out of the bag. So, how would you feel about meeting the heroes? Maybe even possibly joining the Wards?"

That stopped me. I looked down at my plate, at the cheeseless crust, and suddenly felt less hungry. The Wards sounded important, like a regional trainee hunstmen group from the context.

One that I had, somehow, in all my travels across the Four Kingdoms of Remnant, out of all my experience in the profession of arms, had never heard of.

I was growing less and less confident that this was about huntsmen every second.

I took a second to mull over the answer, mostly for show. No way I could actually respond to the question, at least not with a flat "yay or nay."

I shrugged again, both because it accurately described how I was feeling and because it seemed like what a teenager would do. "I don't really know, to be completely honest. Can I take up the old offer of a couple of days?"

Zoe circled the counter and took me by the arm. "Of course, honey, of course. I'm sorry for bringing it up early and getting your father to spring this on you. But I really just feel like that's probably the safest place for you right now."

Alan butted in. "I mean, you're about to head into your first year of highschool. I bet there's still time to submit an application to Arcadia, everyone knows that that's where the Wards go." He was smiling at that, but Zoe shot him a look over her shoulder and he wilted. She mouthed something to him that I was not at the right angle to see, and he nodded repeatedly in understanding. "Or you could still go to Winslow," he said over a cough, "I know that there are still some benefits to going there."

I blinked for a long, drawn out moment. What had that been about? Winslow? Arcadia? Civilian high schools, presumably. Except that the Wards attended one of them. Were the Wards trainee huntsmen or not? Was Arcadia the local combat school? It certainly sounded more like one from the name.

"I still need to think about it," I said noncommittally. If I got a few more days to gather information I would have a much better time sorting out what the best course of action was. I would have to come clean eventually, or they would find out. One way or the other. I did not see these Wards, whatever they were, coming into the equation.

The conversation wound down from there, and then sputtered out and died like an old dust engine. I needed to research, to get more concrete answers without revealing too much of my hand before I was ready.

"Hey, dad?" I asked, doing my best to appear lost in thought. He gave a grunt in the affirmative and I continued. "Can I look some stuff up on the..." the suspicion growing in the back of my head jumped in to cut me off before I said 'CCTnet', "Can I look some stuff up tonight?" I finished lamely, unable to come up with a reasonable replacement word.

"Absolutely Ems," Alan replied quickly. "You can use the computer in my office until we're able to get your phone replaced." Phone? I nodded along. Then he just looked at me, so I set the plate down and turned around. I walked through the kitchen and living room to the house's internal crossroads. I paused just a hair too long, because Alan sighed and replied, "Down the hall, second to your left." In a lower voice that I likely would not have heard without increased aura perception, he said "Maybe we should go and get you checked out by the hospital just in case."

The comment sent a spark through my blood, but I avoided letting it show in my posture. I followed Alan's advice and sure enough came to a room with book cases against all walls but one, and dominated in the center by a stately desk covered in papers and two separate, large computer monitors. Against the back wall were many framed certificates, including graduation from two different educational institutions, as well as law school. Below that was… an admission to a bar? I shook my head and sat gingerly into the large chair with rolling wheels behind the desk.

As I swiveled the mouse to wake up the old terminal, I looked down at the archaic appearing physical keyboard. The arrangement was strange, but I felt that if my suspicions were correct it must be very convenient that not only am I speaking the same language, but all of the characters appear the same.

The room filled with the whir of fans from inside the terminal and the monitors eventually lit up. Even more than the television, this technology was old. I signed in using the username and password for the Family account written on a piece of paper taped to the bottom of the left screen, leaving the "Dad" account untouched.

From there, things were messy. There was no automated assistant AI to help me with my questions, which I spent an embarrassingly long amount of time waiting for. Clicking around randomly brought me, after enough trial and error, to something called a "Search Engine" which sounded like something out of a science fiction novel from before the Great War.

Regardless, things got… well, _easier_ is not really the correct word. I was able to search with the engine for everything I was looking for, but nothing useful was coming up.

Beacon gave no real results except for basic definitions, the locations of several nearby lighthouses, and strangely enough, a newspaper. Even after looking through multiple engine pages turned up nothing about the Huntsmen Academy. Vale was little better, showing me results for some kind of computer game. Atlas was worse, showing me either maps of what was distinctly not the continent of Mantle, or redirecting me to some kind of giant holding a globe.

Mistral tried to redirect me to a page on "mistrial", and Vacuo sent me to "vacuous".

My stomach sank deeper as I continued to search. My own name brought up no history of my matches or tabloid rumored love affairs, instead bringing suggestions for mythology and some kind of shoe. Going more basic, Dust brought up only the common household waste variety. Aura sent me to some kind of mystic nonsense with colors and crystals rather than the science of the living soul.

Remnant, like most of the others, only gave the definition and some random associated links with no real connection to each other.

Finally, nearly ready to pull my hair out, I searched for pictures of the moon. What I saw only confirmed what I already knew at this point. All the images I found, regardless of the phase, showed the moon completely whole. Not the barest hint of a fracture, no cloud of debris. Just a smooth, celestial orb. Unbroken. Alien.

Needless to say, "map of the world" gave me something completely unrecognizable.

I closed the Search Engine and laid my head in my hands, and for hopefully the last time today, broke down into tears.

Not only was I dead. Not only was I dead and inhabiting the body of a random girl, who was missing from her family without them realizing it.

No. It could not _just_ be that.

No.

That all had to happen _in a completely different world!?_

"Who names their planet after _dirt_!?" I screamed into my hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revisiting this chapter is a real delight, to be entirely honest. Dipping my toe into serious dialogue, and writing my first line that could arguably be considered funny, all at the same time. Ah, memories.


	5. Interlude 1

_—Breath—_   


There was a reason he didn’t work in Parahuman Law. As exciting as it had seemed when he was entering law school, this brand new field trying to govern the unbelievable, Alan Barnes’s instincts were good. Divorce was safer, both as an investment (he’d never run out of clients) and as a general life practice (in that he was less likely to be set on fire). Even working in the same firm as the infamous Carol Dallon couldn’t pry him away from family court. At least Brandish could defend herself outside of the courtroom. Despite the money they made, Alan had no envy for folks like Quinn Calle. That incident had been the talk of the Bay’s legal community for weeks. He had gotten a lot of flowers in the hospital, and more than a few nervous glances to his scar after he left.  
  
  
No, divorce was steady. Divorce was predictable and safe. Out of all the things in Alan Michael Barnes’s rapidly collapsing world, nothing was less of those things than capes.  
  
  
Well, maybe the Endbringers. But that wasn’t the point.  
  
  
No, his daughter was a Parahuman. She’d been held down, threatened with mutilation, and in response she’d become so powerful that she wiped the floor with her attackers. Became so powerful that her personality changed completely in an instant. Maybe Zoe was right, maybe it was just stress and trauma, putting on a brave face, dialing back the sarcasm after having her priorities forcibly adjusted. It was possible. Alan wasn’t a psychologist.  
  
  
They knew some good therapists. Their couple’s counselor could recommend some more. The Protectorate probably knew ones more specially situated to help with Emma’s particular problem.  
  
  
But that wasn’t the point either.  
  
  
Here he was, going back over settlement agreements well past midnight to try to relax. Because, as much as it made him sound like either the most boring person in the world, or a skin-suit wearing psychopath, Alan had no other hobby than his job. He was neither, thank god. He just happened to genuinely enjoy his work, the stability that he gave to his family by banking on the instability of others. Often quite literally.  
  
  
So he worked late. The drafting and revision soothed him. Agreements were comforting. Amiably separating if a relationship broke down was a sign of civilization succeeding, no matter what the pearl-clutching bible-thumpers said. If the alternative was festering resentment, abuse? Murder? Little doses of chaos, occurring in an organized way, with clearly delineated rules that all parties agreed to follow, helped work toward the greater order. Breaking up an unhealthy couple and bringing out the resentment in the courtroom rather than behind the woodshed was good for society. Good for everybody.  
  
  
But that wasn’t the point either.  
  
  
That’s not what this was about.  
  
  
He was working to take his mind off the events of the day, of the attack by those immigrant thugs and what they had forced his daughter to do. What he _hadn’t been able to stop._  
  
  
There it was. No amount of settlements and visitation agreements could keep him from _the point._ His daughter had been hurt, had hurt herself worse in order to protect herself, and her daddy, the one that was supposed to look out for her and keep away danger, who had nearly a foot and a hundred pounds on her, had been _completely fucking useless_ in keeping his daughter safe from the objectively proven worst day of her life.  
  
  
There weren’t words for the degree to which he had failed his little girl.  
  
  
Was that why he was hesitant to go to the PRT? Zoe hadn’t called it out specifically, not in so many words, but he had the distinct feeling that she would have if she had kept going, if Emma hadn't come down stairs when she had. That he was afraid of exposing just how badly he had failed, how much his daughter had suffered through his own lack of action.  
  
  
The fact that he was even still awake after knocking back that many shots was a sign of his restless nerves. Zoe had passed out hours ago and he had taken her up to bed like he used to with his young daughters after watching a movie on the couch as a family.  
  
  
Much less adorable when the one being carried is a hopelessly drunk adult woman who was right when she said it was your fault. Thank god Emma had gone to bed first. The last thing she needed right now would be to see her mother like that.  
  
  
He had taken that alley shortcut for years. It cut five whole minutes off the commute by avoiding all of those red lights and nasty intersections. It was reliable, stable, continued to present the same results over time.  
  
  
Until suddenly, it hadn’t.  
  
  
And sweet little Emma had paid the price for it.  
  
  
He had already picked up the phone and started dialing before he fully knew what he was doing. He was listening to it ring before he could stop himself. The distinct and familiar sound of an absolute dinosaur of a voicemail system engaging was strangely comforting. The voice on the record was one he had once felt he could talk to about nearly anything, despite how they had drifted apart over the past year.  
  
  
 _“Hello, you’ve reached the home phone number of Daniel Hebert. I’m sorry, but I am not able to come to the phone right now. If this call is regarding Association business, I would request that you call me at my office number during normal business hours. If this is a personal call, then please leave a message.”_  
  
  
The familiar beep rang in his ear, and Alan just started talking before he knew what he wanted to say. Danny kept his voicemail inbox as generic as possible, so normal that it was almost worth giving him grief over it. Almost.  
  
  
He had a serious purpose to this particular call, though.  
  
  
“Danny, it’s me Alan,” he said for maybe the second time, barely slurring his words. “I’m just calling… just calling because I need to talk.” He swallowed, and loosened his collar. When had his collar gotten tight, or his face gotten this hot? “It’s about Emma. Something happened. Bad. Something bad happened. She’s… not okay. In one piece. Just not okay.” That was the important part of the call, but it wasn’t the point. “I know that Taylor’s at summer camp, and that Annette… isn’t there anymore.” He winced. Wasn’t there anymore. Making it sound like she just left instead of dying well before her time. Why the hell had he brought it up? He was such a prick.  
  
  
“Just… call me back in the morning. I need someone to vent to that isn’t Zoe. Can’t get her more mad at me than she already is. She’s right though. Just. Call me back in the morning? Please?” Had the tone that signalled that the message was no longer recording played already and he’d missed it, or was it still to come? He hung up regardless. He’d already said the important parts. Hadn’t said what the point was though. Not the sort of thing you say through the phone.  
  
  
Maybe, he thought idly, Danny would get angry at him for calling in the middle of the night. That famous Hebert temper that he had kept locked away for as long as he and Annette had been together. Maybe it would come out, and Danny would have some passion come back into his life. Would that make Alan a good friend after all? Letting himself become the target of his friend’s frustration, just to kickstart his emotional engine?  
  
  
Small bits of chaos, a greater order. Danny had been quiet for too long since Annette died. Too withdrawn. That made Zoe worry about Taylor, how well she was being taken care of. She was a good woman, with a good heart. That was why he married her wasn’t it? But Alan worried about his friend. So cold, so sad. That was no way to live, slowly collapsing because you didn’t have the energy to maintain what you had.  
  
  
What was he even thinking? He called to vent to Danny about what had happened with Emma and the god-damn-”Azns”. Not to do some kind of abstract mind game where he drew his friend’s anger to re-introduce him to life. Sober Alan knew that didn’t make any sense, but Drunk Alan...  
  
  
He looked over the paperwork across his desk. In a moment of more lucid realization, it finally occurred that it was going to take the cold light of day and maybe a pair of paralegals to actually verify if any of it was still worthwhile in any of the ongoing proceedings the firm was involved in.  
  
  
Just as he was getting up to trundle his tired self to bed, he heard a sound at the door. The front door. Clattering and scratching, like someone was trying to be quiet and failing.  
  
  
Suddenly, he was on alert. He didn’t own a gun, the house had a security system but that was a cold and far away comfort for someone who had a home invader about to literally come through his front door.  
  
  
Alan knew the reputation that the gangs of Brockton Bay possessed. Allfather claimed to maintain the peace now that the Marche and the Teeth were a distant memory, but today’s events proved otherwise. Alan knew the truth. They were in a constant state of barely maintained balance in their war to dominate the city and ruin the lives of everyone who lived in it. And part of that was press-ganging any new capes that appeared into their organizations before another group, or the heroes, could snatch them up.  
  
  
He grabbed the bottle from off his desk and stalked, as best he could, out of the office. Was it the best weapon available? Probably not. Did Drunk Alan know that? Again, probably not.  
  
He heard the door swing open on its hinges.  
  
  
Alan leapt from around the corner, ready to take on a squadron of Neo-Nazi stormtroopers, ABB triggermen, or god alone knew what else.  
  
  
He was prepared to bellow, “Get out of my house!” in order to wake up the girls and let them know what was going on so they could prepare to get away. That should give them enough time to either jump out a window or get whatever martial arts mojo Emma’s power had given her ready to go.  
  
  
Thankfully, he didn’t scream and wake up his wife and daughter, and he didn’t club the intruder over the head with a bottle of Hennesy. Because the person standing in the doorway, wide-eyed at his display of jumping from the cover of the hallway, was his eldest. With a backpack and a duffle thrown over one shoulder, looking at him with wide eyes that were equal parts surprised and unimpressed.  
  
  
They stood there, staring at each other for a long few seconds. “You’re here.” he said, lamely, trying to at least fill the awkward silence that had descended over his atrium.  
  
  
Anne blinked twice, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, I came in on the late train. I got in at midnight, I thought Mom told you I was coming and that you were going to pick me up from the station?”  
  
  
Alan was just a little bit dizzy just then, and stumbled slightly into the wall. Anne’s wide eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you drunk? Is that why I had to walk here in the middle of the night?”  
  
  
He let the wall support him as he slumped against it. Good solid wall, for a good solid house. He wanted to stay here forever. That was all he had ever wanted. That and happy grandchildren. “I’m sorry Ace. I completely forgot that I was supposed to do that. Why didn’t you call a cab?”  
  
  
Anne blushed, just strongly enough that he could tell in the semi-lit darkness. “You know how high fares can be in town. Especially for a scared white girl walking through a bad neighborhood at night.” She looked him over again, eyes falling to the bottle and locking on it for several seconds before meeting his gaze again. “Is it really that bad?”  
  
  
He shook his head. That made the spinning worse. “No… yes? A little bit, maybe not the way you think.” He steadied himself, tried to stand up straighter. Mixed success.  
  
  
Anne dropped her bags at her feet, crossing her arms in a way that reminded him so much of her mother. “Mmhnn. Mind elaborating for the court?”  
  
  
He rubbed his face with his off hand. What to say? Or how to say it? “She’s holding up better than we thought she would. Better than we are.” Anne nodded at that. “Or at least, she looks like she is on the outside.”  
  
  
“Have you talked about bringing in a counselor?”  
  
  
It was his turn to nod. “Yeah. Your mom and I both think it’s a good idea, and Ems didn’t shoot it down either.”  
  
  
Anne half-smiled, a bittersweet expression. “Then it sounds like we’re all going to make it through this okay.”  
  
  
Okay. Emma wasn’t okay, no matter how she tried to act. She was clearly holding a lot back, he could tell. Zoe wasn’t okay, she was devastated. Would she always be waiting, on the edge of her nerves, for the next call from the next incident?  
  
  
He slid down the side of the wall, dropping the bottle. Was he going to be “okay” enough to keep his family afloat? Together?  
  
  
He had already proven that he couldn’t keep them safe.  
  
  
“There’s something else. Something you aren’t telling me.” Anne’s voice was low. Clever girl got it in one. Not like he was giving off clear signs of guilt and fear. She could probably smell it on him more than the booze.  
  
  
He couldn’t look at her. His head was against his knees, staring at the floor between his legs. His hands gripped the short hair above his ears, pulling his scalp tight. The pain was sharp, but so so minor.  
  
  
“We got ambushed by ABB. Your mom already told you. I drove us down the old alley off Lords and Seventh. They rolled a dumpster in front of us, I couldn’t get through.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “They broke the window, pulled her out of the car. I got out, tried to get them off her. They took me down without even trying.”  
  
  
He shook his head, looked up but still couldn’t meet his daughter’s eyes. “I watched as they threatened to mutilate her, to cut out her eyes and ears since she was too dangerous to kidnap for their godforsaken sex rings.” He shivered. That man’s voice was going to haunt his dreams forever.  
  
  
What was it doing to Emma?  
  
  
Anne’s silence drew him forward. _Just finish the story_ , it seemed to say. _Tell me what happened. What you couldn’t stop._  
  
  
“Emma’s a cape,” he choked out. Anne gasped. He nodded again, and once more. “When they were threatening her, when they were about to go through with it. Something happened. All of their knives went flying. Then she tore into them with her bare hands. Broke bones, moved faster than I’ve ever seen before.”  
  
  
He met Anne’s wide, shocked, disbelieving eyes. “Something happened to her memory too. She doesn’t really remember us, not me or your mother, not after what happened. Maybe it’ll pass. But after the fight she wouldn’t talk, and once she started again it just seemed like she was following us to play along.”  
  
  
An impromptu burp, tasting like whiskey, pepperoni and shame, ruined the moment. Anne sighed.  
  
  
“Christ, dad, what are we going to do?”  
  
  
He shook his head. “Beyond be there for her? Support her, and hope her memory comes back? Take her to the Protectorate and see if they can fix the issue? Sign my little girl up as a child soldier and hope the government can find some _use_ for her?” His voice teetered on the edge of hysterical laughter.  
  
  
There was a hand on his shoulder. He blinked, and Anne was kneeling down in front of him, looking down at him with sadness and concern of her own. Pity. Pity for her poor, useless _coward_ of a father. A father shouldn’t have to rely on his own daughter to support him.  
  
  
Her bittersweet half-smile returned. “The first half of that sounded like a pretty good idea to me.”  
  
  
Tears filled her eyes, tears that were mirrored on his own face. He took her hand, and let out a long, shuddering breath.  
  
  
“Yeah,” he said weakly. “Yeah, I guess it does.”  
  
  
And maybe… just maybe at lunch tomorrow he could track down Mrs. Carol Dallon, Attorney at Law, and they could have a friendly talk about their daughters


	6. Forward 2.1

_—_ _Forward —_

Back straight.

Feet together.

Arms shoulder-width apart.

Inhale.

Descend.

Hold.

_An entirely different world._

Push.

Inhale.

Descend.

Hold.

_A world without Grimm._

Push.

Inhale.

Descend.

Hold.

_A population in the_ _**billions.** _

Push.

It was hard to imagine.

On my next descent Emma's arms began to waver. I held my position for five seconds in the middle of the pushup as I had for the others, but it was a significant struggle. Emma's whole body shook and shuddered as I pushed against the ground, straightening my arms to the reset state.

I was able to do two more before I collapsed. It was disappointing but not completely unexpected. After coming back to the room to sleep last night I had made a second pass through Emma's things. There were enough papers relating to a youth modeling agency among the old schoolwork, keepsakes and personal reminders that even in my totally shaken state I was able to draw the obvious conclusion.

Emma had to worry about the cameras too. Had to keep a graceful figure and disposition, had to keep up appearances and show her best self. Was it ironic that she and I shared that as well?

The relationship to the camera had not resulted in a similar level of fitness, unfortunately. Emma was not exactly skinny, not like the dark-haired girl in the photographs at least, but she did not possess anywhere near the muscle mass I was used to having. Nor the endurance.

I was complaining, but it could have been worse. Emma was lithe, her muscles lean and her joints and ligaments were flexible. That was good. Flexibility mattered more than raw power in a fight anyway, when Auras were involved. Building muscle was easier than loosening them if you were out of practice with stretching.

Exercise helped me focus more than meditation ever had, anyway.

I blew a strand of shag carpeting out of my face.

There had been some small commotion downstairs late into the night. I had heard it, head still reeling from the revelations that my adventure on the Search Engine had unearthed. I had not dared to leave the room, so I could not hear the full exchange, but it had ended with two different sets of footsteps making their way upstairs and both of the other doors at this end of the hallway being opened and closed. I had spent that entire time in Emma's bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets as if the appearance of sleep could hide me from the revelations that must be forthcoming. Alan had to have some kind of access to the logs kept by the Search Engine. It was his terminal after else could he have spent so many hours doing in that office after I had returned upstairs? If he looked over the logs of what I had looked for, combined it with "Emma's" strange behavior and some simple deductive reasoning he would have easily stumbled directly into the truth. His daughter had been replaced by some kind of space alien. Or maybe an alien from another dimension, like in that movie that Mother had forbidden me from watching.

She had made me balance the bucket of water on my head for _hours_ after she found me watching it regardless. I smiled at the memory.

It had been worth it.

The reality of my alien-ness (alien-ity? alienitude?) had yet to fully sink in. These people did not seem to act in a fundamentally different way than the people of Remnant. They had families, homes, jobs and cities. Culture, society, art.

_More of it than we did._

It was hard not to be jealous. These people, this world, had grown up from the stone age with no greater predators than themselves. Had lived for eons with nothing but war and hostile climates to prevent their expansion. Every continent was covered in them, the two largest kingdoms of this world had populations of a billion each, or close to it. There was no place on this world that humanity had not touched.

And yes, it was humanity alone. There were no faunus. If there had been faunus, but they had been simply wiped out long ago by humanity's superior numbers, it was not in any records the Engine had access to. More likely that they had simply never appeared on this world.

How strange, yet how wonderful to imagine. I held no ill will against any faunus, of course. All those I had competed against over the course of my career had been respectful and admirable duelists, and I counted Blake Belladonna among my rather small circle of true friends. And yet... A world without the hatred born of clear differences in species. A world where there could never be a White Fang, or the oppression necessary to give rise to them.

A world without Grimm, but also a world without Dust. That was nearly as strange. The people of this world had used simple fire and their own muscle to accomplish most tasks for thousands of years of recorded history. They made electricity from yet more fire, rather than from the natural crystallization of the elemental force. Combustion engines were a novelty back home. There had always been rumors that one day the world would run out of Dust, and that we would have to switch over to such things, but the people peddling them were usually the same people who thought that the Grimm had a leader and that Atlas was secretly funding the White Fang to give their interventionism legitimacy, or that Remnant was flat despite all mathematical proofs otherwise just because satellite imaging was impossible and thus they could never _really_ know for sure.

Yet combustion engines had been used for centuries and given way to power taken from the sun, wind, and waters themselves. Somehow, they had begun to slowly come back to the natural solution of using the elemental forces of nature to power their lives, if only in something of a different way.

A world without Aura… A world where Semblances had been replaced with powers caused by strange, arcane wounds in the psyche.

Except for me.

Neither Alan nor whomever else had barged into my room and dragged me out of it as an interloper and a charlatan. Knowledge of my alien nature was still secure. The house had returned to its previous quiet almost immediately. In its wake, I had eventually been drawn in by the siren song of Emma's plush comforter and fluffy pillows, and fallen asleep.

My dream was strange, although I could not remember most of it. I had been in a room lined with mirrors, like the funhouse at the Vytal Festival, yet at the same time filled with a strange bluish fog. Each mirror I had come to had refused to show me my own face. I was alone, but could almost swear that I had heard someone else behind me in the smoke and shadows, voice indistinct.

It was easy to shrug off. I had encountered strange dreams long before I had died and been transported to another planet that worked on fundamentally different principles than my own. There was enough rumbling around in my psyche to explain away nearly any number of odd dreams.

Having woken up on this new day, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the headaches seemed to have stopped. Perhaps I was simply finally settling in to this new body, and the headaches had been the mental and spiritual equivalent of growing pains. Maybe they really were born of stress.

The one thing that I did know from having woken up in Emma's body, in Emma's room was this: I was certainly no longer dreaming, and I had the distinct sense that I had signed on to this for the duration.

Thus, training Emma's body. My body, now. It was a sobering, uncomfortable thought. It did not _feel_ like my body, this mass of too-short limbs and too-weak muscle. It was awkward, stumbling to pick up a pair of shoes because you expected your arms to be longer. Regardless, I would continue to grow into it as it continued to grow into its own potential. Looking at Zoe,though, I was confident in the thought that I would never be as tall as I had been in my first life.

There were many things I would never be again, never do again. Many people I would never see again.

I stamped down on the heartache before it had a chance to truly rise, shoved the memory of golden hair and sapphire eyes from my mind. I would not have been able to return to them if I had simply ceased to exist, as I had expected death to be. How could this possibly be any worse?

Keep moving forward. No way out but through.

Unfortunately, peak physical fitness took time and effort to attain. Aura could compensate for some things, of course. It let you carry more, kept you running longer, eased your aches and pains and greatly increased your rate of healing. That last thing was the most important. With Aura healing the damage to Emma's-my- muscles sooner, the process of building strength grew considerably faster. I had started too young to truly take advantage of that particular shortcut, already at my ideal fitness for my age before Mother had unlocked my Aura. Jaune, though. Jaune had taken full advantage once he had gotten over himself and actually come to me for training. It was part of the reason why he had begun to make up for his deficiencies in combat so quickly. With as much glorious, brilliant Aura as he had, he could go for much longer, and much harder than someone else with a similar lack of formal training would have been able to. The results had been… impressive, to say the least. When I had been able to sneak glances.

Gods below, why was I blushing? I stamped thoughts of Jaune back down, no matter how much it hurt to do so. He was alive, and back on Remnant. His potential had the opportunity to keep on growing, to achieve what I could not. To avenge me, and best of all, be happy.

"This is not working at all," I mumbled to myself as I wiped my tears against the soft carpet. Mother would have been appalled, but then again she was not here either.

If Emma's threshold for pushups was disappointing, her seemingly natural affinity for sustained stretches nearly made up for it. The burn in my back, in my hips and in my thighs was like the warm return of a familiar friend long since departed. Mother had used these warmups as a method of meditation, something that Lie Ren seemed to have in common with her. I had even heard that the techniques had been passed to civilians in the safest cities as a "mystical Mistralian ritual to ensure health and wellbeing." It would do it, to be sure, but there was nothing mystical about it. Like everything else worthwhile, it took effort and enough practice to achieve perfect precision. Especially in the most strenuous poses. I was less embarrassed about the sweat running down my face for those than I was at my miserable showing with the pushups.

I looked out of Emma's window to the street sun had yet to fully rise, yet it was already significantly lighter than it had been when I had woken up. I looked once more at the running shoes in Emma's closet. They seemed like the most frequently used items relating to exercise in all of her possession. Cardio was good for people like models, as long as you carefully managed your intake. It kept the smooth supple lines that accentuated the clothes without distorting them with bulging done some modeling myself in my early career, before my mother had shut my agent down, I had some expectation of what Emma's life in that position was like.

I slipped the shoes on, careful to get a firm grasp on them at my actual arm's length before tying the laces. I was already dressed for the run in the best tank top and shorts I had been able to find.

I returned to the window and glanced once more across the street. The houses near Emma's were similar in size and decoration, but only a few blocks down the way was an intersection that would certainly become busy later in the day. It was hard to get a good angle to see beyond it, but the houses further on appeared much rougher, smaller, and less well maintained.

The wealth gap was nothing new to me. I had grown up as something of a martial princess with the honor of a name to defend, and despite Mother's austerity I had never had to wonder after my material needs. But seeing how stark the difference could be across so small an area, that was new to me. Was that a feature of this town of Brockton Bay, or was that a rule in all Earth cities?

More directly relevant to me, where to try to run so that I did not get lost in this city that I knew like the back of Emma's hand.

My experience the day before implied that there were genuine reasons to worry for a pretty, helpless-seeming girl to go running alone in the rougher parts of the city. On the other hand, it might be really silly to just do laps around the same few blocks over and over again. Silly, and perhaps even suspicious.

Would it be more suspicious to simply get lost? Lost with no way to communicate with Alan or Zoe?

That thought had a darker cousin. I could simply… leave. Get lost, but on purpose. Disappear.

The result for Alan and Zoe would be the same. No matter what I did, they had already lost their daughter. If I left without a word, then they would be able to hold out hope that one day, she really would return. I would not have to face their grief, their anger as that hope died once they finally figured it out.

I could already imagine it. Zoe, lying on the floor, weeping and broken. Alan, spittle flying, voice booming through the house, hands on my shoulder, shaking me, demanding that I give his daughter back to him. That I somehow give back the body, the life, I had stolen from her.

I could not face that. I had only ever been good at dealing with one kind of conflict, with sword in hand under the open sky. Backbiting and whispers I had learned to deal with, if only through denying them any hold on me. But raised voices terrified me. I could face down a horde of beowolves with all the confidence in the world, but shouts shattered that confidence like the moon in full view.

_A smashed weapon rack._

_Blades scattered across the floor._

_Emerald eyes burning with fury._

Tears were worse. I hardly had a handle on my own emotions, on what I had lost. Seeing the hope in Zoe's eyes fade as she finally understood what had been under her nose this entire time would crush me. Not as badly as it would break her, though. She would collapse to her knees, unable to speak or breathe except to sob. Curl up into a ball that her husband would not be able to rouse her from. Sleep for days without ever truly resting.

But at the same time, did I not owe it to them? Did my honor as a huntress, as a Nikos, not demand that I give these suffering people the honest truth?

I already knew the answer, of course. I could only avoid it for so long.

I slipped out of the bedroom and crept as carefully as possible down the hallway toward the stairs. A run would clear my head. Yes, running under the rising sun sounded lovely. Fresh air, away from the crushing, cloying, claustrophobic stench of my guilt that already suffused this house.

The bathroom door was open, pale golden light spilling from the crack between the door and the frame. Someone else was already awake. How had I missed that?

No matter, I could just walk past and out the door and-

"Emma?"

My eyes snapped to make eye contact with the speaker as she poked her head out of the door. Hair wet and matted from only being partially towel-dried. Deep bags under the eyes. Otherwise, an almost eerie reflection of the face I had stolen.

The door opened more fully, and I saw the older girl step out into the border between the tiled bathroom and the carpeted hallway. Wrapped in a towel, still slightly dripping from her elbows. Taller than me by a few inches. Damp reddish hair fell far past her shoulders. If she had pulled it into a ponytail, would it look the same as mine used to, despite the difference in color?

Emma's older sister pulled her hair up and began to wrap another towel around it, looking me over nervously. "You're going out?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

She blinked once, twice, then her expression shifted slightly from nervousness to concern. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

I shrugged, then took another step towards the stairs. To move past her.

I did not pass the doorway before she caught me. I could have anyway, if I had really wanted to, but better to allow this woman to say her piece. Her hand, slightly wrinkled and still warm from the heat of the shower, rested lightly on my shoulder. Gingerly, as if she was ready to snap it back towards herself, as if I was a frightened dog liable to bite without warning.

She turned me to look at her. I obliged by looking her in the eyes. Like the rest of this family, hers were blue, but a lighter shade than Alan's. I could tell that staring straight at my alien green made her uncomfortable, but she held eye contact regardless.

Then she pulled me into a hug, warm beyond the simple residual heat of steam and water. She hugged a lot like her mother, I idly thought as she pressed me into her towel-covered chest.

"Don't go looking for them," she whispered low in my ear. "I know Dad said the police got most of them, but that doesn't mean you have to go and bring in the rest."

I blinked. That had not been at all what I expected her to say. Was that how Emma would have acted, if she had been the one with my powers in this place? Gone off to deliver righteous vengeance to the people that had hurt her and her father? It seemed laughable. They were civilians.

"I was just going out for a run," I said, voice thin and bewildered. "It's always best to run before the day really starts, before the sun heats everything up."

Was Emma the vengeful type? Had she spoken of her desire to hunt down criminals if she only had the ability? Her sister's warning seemed so wildly out of character for what I had seen of the girl so far.

She laughed, but there was little humor in the sound. "Whatever you say." She pulled away from me, leaving a damp patch on the front of my tank top. She saw it and grimaced. "Just remember to stick to the nice part of town, okay? Be safe."

This young woman's genuine concern for me-no, for her sister- was touching. Painfully so.

Just another person that I was going to hurt when I finally worked up the courage to come clean.

I nodded, and gave her my best press conference smile.

Then I shuffled down the stairs, turned the corner, and I was out the door.

I followed the rising of the sun as I took off at a jog.


	7. Forward 2.2

_—_ _Forward—_

Endurance is a funny thing, when you think about it. Especially in the context of running, people with less experience tend to think of it entirely as a measure of physical energy over time. They are not _wrong_ necessarily, but they are less than fully correct.

After a certain degree of cardiovascular and muscular fitness is achieved, endurance becomes a matter of pain tolerance and mental fortitude. Most people, it turns out, have bodies that are capable of running much further than their minds. Most people quit well before they are truly exhausted.

Emma had a base level of physicality, but was by no means exceptional in that regard.

Not to be too prideful, but I had been referred to as "The Invincible Girl" for a reason.

Emma's lungs burned as we crossed the street that, by my estimation, marked the end of our second mile. My mind was clear, ready to continue.

Aura helped with the physical issues, of course. But it was wise to use it sparingly. Tap into it for its physical enhancements too much during training, and the actual improvement over time would start to slump. Aura-crutching was a significant problem among early combat-school students, and those that could not grow out of the habit usually failed to pass their second year.

Allowing just enough aura to keep my legs from collapsing as I continued to run would not be an issue however, as long as I was sure that it extended my range. Same with allowing it to help me bounce back for the next run. Like all things, Aura is merely a tool in the huntress's arsenal, with both proper and improper uses depending on the context.

Concentrating on the run itself allowed my mind to achieve a sort of _focused-unfocusedness_. The same seemingly contradictory state I usually entered during a match, completely open to the actions of my opponent, moving with care and precision without the need for conscious thought. My mind unclouded and unbound, my body free, both perfectly in sync. As I ran, the worry over what I would say to Emma's family slowly melted away. Shock at finding myself in another world followed.

All that mattered was my feet on the pavement, the brisk morning air, the quiet city slowly roused to wakefulness by the sunrise's illumination. I was alive. With every footstep, every labored breath, every bead of sweat, that message repeated itself. I was alive. _I am alive_.

A giddy laugh bubbled up from my diaphragm, and I let it loose as I turned a corner and continued to run. The Woman in Red had killed me, yet I was alive.

How wondrous.

It seemed, in my current state, that my feet had chosen a path for me without my realization. Crossing streets, making turns seemingly at random. It was not, however. There was a certain order, a certain pattern. I let go to simply _be_. Wherever I went, wherever my feet wished to take me, all that mattered was the beat of the heart inside my chest.

I slowed to a stop in a neighborhood that, as I came back to traditional consciousness, I thought might have once been more prosperous than it currently was. Many houses stood two stories tall, several with decently sized yards and garages. The houses were all old, but with the right maintenance that could mean classy. Venerable. Dignified.

Some of the houses on the block still were.

The others…

Overgrown lawns sprinkled with dandelions. Cracked concrete poked through with weeds. Roofs with missing shingles, an uneven porch step. An old, weathered "For Sale" sign leaning at a slight angle, like a flower wilting for lack of water. Never something as much as a single shattered or boarded up window, and yet, ten-thousand papercuts can bleed the strongest aura. All the little signs built up.

And yet...

Call me naive, but I did not feel any sense of danger from this place. The signs of dilapidation filled me with a sense of melancholy rather than setting my nerves on edge. This had been a happy community, once. A thriving neighborhood perhaps a decade ago. Something must have happened, something terrible, because I could sense that the depression exhibited by these houses was echoed by those that lived inside them. It was the desperation of one reaching out a hand for help, not yet the desperation of a hand lashing out.

I looked over the house I had stopped in front of, the one with the uneven steps. The grass was slightly over-long, but not completely untamed like some of the others. A battered, slightly rusted pickup truck sat in the driveway. All the windows in the house were dark.

What had brought me here? At first, even second glance there was no clear distinction between it and any of the others on this row. And yet, I felt strangely drawn to it, like I should cross the threshold, knock at the door. Step inside, call out for someone. Who?

It was a feeling impossible to entirely brush off. I was stuck, frozen. A pang rippled through me, echoing out from my heart. A faint stream of tears began to trickle down my face.

What were these feelings? Did this place have some significance to Emma? Why this house? Why did it get such a strong reaction, when her own home, her own parents and sister, had not? Did I still have Emma's memories, buried somewhere inside? Could I unearth them? How?

… was _something else_ buried deep inside? Something… I had _locked away_?

I rubbed my eyes, and turned away from the house. My confusion warred with a deep sadness from… somewhere. As I turned away from the house, took the next step to try to continue forward, or perhaps to run away, I felt a pressure build between my temples. Not the lightning strike of a headache like yesterday, just… a touch. Where those had been blinding, raging attempts to burst and shatter, this was almost gentle. Insistent. Pleading.

I could almost imagine a voice inside me, whispered not to remain hidden but for sheer lack of strength. _Please_ , it seemed to say, _don't go._

I ran.

Where first I had stepped easily, my pace was now inconsistent, shoddy and syncopated. My ragged breath, my pounding heart, my straining legs, these were things I could no longer ignore. My mind, once like flowing water, was now cracked ice, sharp and brittle. I could not stay here, could not deal with these new feelings and what they might mean.

Endurance was replaced with sheer, bloody-minded brute force as I ran with all my strength back the way I came.

_—_ _Forward—_

Emma's sister was waiting for me at the gate. I probably should have expected this. That I had not, after the conversation the two of us had earlier, was a minor failing. She made eye contact almost immediately as I neared, my labored gasping and loud discordant footfalls giving me away at a distance. She sipped from a ceramic coffee mug with a logo I did not recognize and eyed me up and down as I approached, trying just a bit too hard to look nonchalant.

"Enjoy your run?"

"Absolutely," I managed to get out between heaves of my shoulders. I bent over, hands on knees, and began to cough. Gods below, I hurt. That was okay, I could start using Aura soon. Somehow, in the midst of the panic and confusion on my return run, I had been able to keep it at bay.

She raised a single eyebrow, and I could sense that a wry smile was being hidden behind that mug.

I straightened, and after a few seconds was able to get my breathing under control. My heart still pounded away within my chest, but I could feel it beginning to slow at least. I gave Emma's sister my best press conference smile. "As you can tell, I have gotten a sufficient level of exercise and failed to get into any trouble, so I would say that it went well."

The young woman snorted into her coffee, and I could hear teeth clink against ceramic. A splash of brown rolled down her white blouse, and she swore in a low hiss. She glared at me, but the expression lacked any real menace from what I could tell. "That was your fault. I just got this shirt too." She began to paw at the rapidly spreading stain, then swore again. "I'm going to have to change. You coming in?"

Honestly, I should stay outside and finish my post-run stretches. But I had the sense that it would feel more natural to come in with Emma's sister rather than wait, so I dashed to follow.

As soon as we entered the front room, the older girl tore off down the hallway grumbling. "I've gotta get water and stain remover on this, stat." That left me in the foyer to take off my shoes and wander into the kitchen.

Zoe and Alan were both awake and dressed for the day, though neither of them seemed particularly happy about that. Zoe was at the stove, her back to me, shoulders clearly tense. Alan nursed a mug of coffee sourly, deep bags beneath his squinting eyes as he stared into the screen of some sort of clamshell terminal sitting on the table. As I drew closer his gaze left the device and looked me over. His eyes were still strained, as if looking into the sunlight from the window behind me was painful, but he did his best to smile regardless. "Sweetheart, you're back!"

I nodded as Zoe turned at Alan's announcement of my arrival. She looked only slightly less haggard than her husband, but much of that seemed to be the work of some carefully applied makeup. Her smile was genuine, however. "Anne told us you went running. Did it go well?"

Ah, Anne was her name. Good thing I had not tried to use it yet and embarrassed myself forgetting "my own" sister's name. If anything was going to sink this charade I was still keeping up, it would be that. I nodded again, somewhat absently.

Zoe's smile widened, showing only the slightest bit of strain. "Coffee?" she offered, gesturing at the pot on the counter behind her.

I shook my head. "Cold water first, please."

Zoe grabbed a glass from a cabinet and began to fill it from the faucet. Alan looked me over, no doubt noticing how flushed and sweat-soaked my skin was. "I'll admit I'm surprised you went out so early. I'd have thought you would want to sleep in, at least a little."

I smiled, a hint of genuine bashfulness creeping in. "I was unable to get back to sleep, and felt that a run would clear my head." I accepted the glass from Zoe and sat across from Alan at the table, taking a long sip. I had not realized quite how parched I was until the water hit my tongue. Gods I needed this.

Steps on the wood paneling behind me announced that Anne was on her way before she spoke. "That's what I was talking about earlier, Ems. When did you start talking so formal all the time?" Talking about earlier, when had we spoken about such things? I blinked repeatedly, then made short work of the rest of the glass, deciding not to dignify what she had said with a response.

"Anne, come help me with this." I did not see what happened over the next minute as both women busied themselves behind the island. Soon though, Anne place a bowl next to Alan's terminal and one in front of me, while Zoe put a mug of steaming coffee next to it and a small platter of sliced fruit in the middle of the table.

"Oatmeal, strawberries, and peaches, and don't give me that look Alan. We all need to start watching our cholesterol. I know you'll feel better if you start the day eating healthy." Zoe rounded the table to sit on the other side of her husband, while Anne pulled up a seat next to me. I noted the new short-sleeved green shirt.

As Alan started up some good natured complaining about his wife's cooking, I grabbed a few slices of fruit from the platter and began mixing them into my bowl. Simple, yet sweet. It reminded me of home. Coffee was bitter, as always, but it helped pick me up a little bit. I tried not to sigh or grimace at the taste. The coffee at Beacon was practically unrivaled in all of Remnant, after all, there was a reason the professors were so addicted to it. It would not be fair to Emma's family to compare their beans to those drunk by the most discerning huntsmen on the planet, as well as their students.

Anne snickered beside me. "Finally growing up, huh?" I turned to her, staring, half-empty coffee mug still in hand. She gestured at it. "Last time I was home you wouldn't even touch a mug without half of it being milk and another third of it being sugar. Now you're drinking it straight black? Welcome to adulthood!" She clapped me on the shoulder, laughing.

I let no expression cross my face, but inwardly I winced. One more step to Emma's family discovering that I was not their daughter.

Across the table, Zoe began to bluster, rising from her seat. "Oh, Emma! I completely forgot, I'm so sorry. Let me get you your stuff!"

Embarrassed for her and chagrined at myself, I waved her back down. "No need to bother. I think I actually like it this way." I sucked down the rest of the mug, channeling the slightest tinge of aura to protect my tongue. Anne stared at me, goggle eyed, before breaking out into even greater laugher. After a long moment, Alan joined in, followed by Zoe. I followed along, but my heart was not really in it. How many more of Emma's little character quirks would I fail to imitate through my ignorance? How long could I really maintain this ruse?

The next few minutes passed in companionable silence as everyone ate. The breakfast really was good. I could have gone for more, with my aura running quietly to repair Emma's muscles eating up calories as it went, but I had the sense that would be even more suspicious.

"So, how's Boston?" Alan asked around a mouthful of strawberry. "I'm surprised it took you this long to come back for the summer." The last half was spoken in what I thought was something of a joking tone, although I could not puzzle out the humor in the words themselves.

Anne swallowed. "School's alright. Work could certainly be better. I let them know about the family emergency, but my manager was not exactly understanding that I wouldn't be coming in this morning."

Zoe gasped. "You got fired?"

"From a coffee shop, part-time. He was a prick anyway. Not exactly a big deal. Rent's already paid for this month, I already let my roommates know I wouldn't be back for a while. My scholarship is still good for next semester." Anne shrugged.

"The nerve of some people," Zoe muttered darkly into her oatmeal.

"Also…" Anne muttered, trailing off. She whispered something low in her throat, sinking down into her chair. Zoe eyed her. "It might not have been the first time I called off on short notice?" she said with a weak smile. Zoe swatted her on the shoulder and launched into a short tirade that I tuned out.

Family emergency. Those were the two words that stuck out to me. So, Anne had been in another city and come rushing down to make sure her sister was okay after hearing about the incident? Touching, especially with having lost her job for her. But it just stretched the guilt and pain of my lies even further.

Thankfully, the conversation at the table continued to distract from my conscience. "You just left the car in the alley? And the cops let you?" Anne seemed aghast.

"With the window broken. Moved it onto the side of the road at least, so it's not obstructing the alleyway. And somehow I expect it to still be there." Alan took another sip of his coffee. "Well, insurance should cover it if it isn't. I've been meaning to get something smaller for a while anyway. Not like there's any reason to be driving an SUV if there's only the four of us, anyway."

"I hope this isn't going to turn into another argument about a convertible mustang, dear." Zoe sniped from the sidelines. "I know you're forty three, but the mid-life crisis look really wouldn't work well on you."

Alan rolled his eyes. "Not the point, _sweetheart_." The last word was said with mock venom. "We've got to make sure it's even still there and take it to the shop on my way to the office."

I saw something of a predatory smile spread across Anne's face. "Can I drive?"

Alan and Zoe exchanged glances. Zoe tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I have a client calling at nine, I could certainly take it here."

Anne's smile went feral. "Then little Ems and I can go tear up the boardwalk after we drop you off?"

Another glance between the parents, this one more meaningful. It seemed that an entire conversation was shared in flicks of eye movement and tilts of the head. Both of them then looked to me.

"If you're feeling up to it, Emma?" Zoe's voice was concerned. That tone was becoming all too familiar to me.

Would it be more suspicious to accept, or decline? What was Zoe worried about, exactly? The boardwalk, or spending time alone with Anne? If she expected me to be apprehensive about going back out into the city, I had already blown that with my run. But what was Emma's relationship with her sister like? All I knew was the banter from this morning and a photo on the desk.

I sighed. Keeping consistency across my actions seemed like the best choice available. "Yeah," I said, doing my best to seem unconcerned, "I could go out." Then I remembered the sweat drying its way across my tank top. "I'll probably need to shower first, though."

Alan glanced at the clock above the stove. "Make it quick, I'll still need to be into work something close to on time."


	8. Forward 2.3

_—_ _Forward—_

I had almost expected that seeing the alleyway, the car that Emma had been dragged out of, would stir something in me, perhaps jog something loose. It did not. I was unsure whether or not I found that surprising. Walking around the scene, asphalt and broken glass under foot, brought back none of the strange melancholy I had experienced when staring at that house in the dying neighborhood.

I was less sure whether or not I found that comforting.

That was not to say that I felt nothing. No, I was the Invincible Girl after all. Most were ignorant of Aura's capacity as an early warning system at range. Most early combat school students, and of course the audiences of tournaments usually were. Most experienced huntsmen knew, of course, and made regular use of the ability. Those that did not rarely lived long enough to be called "experienced."

None of them had to maintain a gimmick under intense public scrutiny for over three years. Without my 'danger sense', I would not have enough time, not to mention the reflexes, to nudge and misdirect enemy weapons a hair's breadth away from ever hitting me. A sense of the location of nearby metal through my polarity helped, certainly. But seeing the threats coming, or at least _knowing_ because the process worked better without eyes, was the keystone of the entire technique. I could _conceivably_ dodge incoming attacks nearly as well without my Semblance, the same was not true without my danger sense.

Gods long forgotten, that had been an interesting skill to train. Starting with the simple blindfold, ready to take the next attack from mother's practice spear. Graduating from the blindfold to the dark, padded leather "deafening bag", as Mother had called it, with only the breathing hole over my mouth to break the seal around my head.

My publicist had been so worried about pictures of me wearing it leaking to the press. I had never really figured out why.

All that is to say: as out of practice as I might have been recently, my Aura was firing wild signals that someone close by was staring daggers at me. Not the sharp pinch in the direction of an imminent threat, but being lighter hardly made up for being more sustained. More concerning, I was unable to find my unknown stalker. Aura said they were above me, slightly to the northwest, above the liquor shop's back entrance. If they were on the roof, they were peeking at me from somewhere I was completely unable to make out.

Alan waved at Anne and I to get back into Zoe's car. He would drive his SUV to the repair shop, then we would pick him up and drop him off at his law firm's office.

Anne had apparently kept a silent bet with herself over whether or not the vehicle would even be there, or if the police would have impounded it. Better yet, one of the gangs or the many wandering vagrants might have stolen it. She was almost disappointed when we had found it still there, and wondered aloud whether or not her father had bribed the officers cleaning up the scene to leave it. Alan had ignored all of it.

Regardless, by now the time allowed me to walk the scene alone had elapsed, and Anne and I pulled out of the alley following her father. Anne kept up a line of banter, which had to be for my benefit, and I distractedly laughed along.

My Aura loyally informed me that my "secret admirer" had not only watched us leave, but had gone to follow. I tried to avoid being obvious as to which direction I was looking for them, and caught a faint, vanishing glimpse of a dark shadow leaping between rooftops in Anne's rear-view mirror.

The huntress from before? No. There were no Grimm on this world, so no huntresses. The _vigilante_. That was what the police had called her.

The cape? I could not tell from the single glance whether or not she was wearing the cloak she had worn last night. Yet, the word these people used to refer to the wielders of their strange Semblances seemed appropriate in this case.

I felt the dawning realization that she had told me to seek her out. Apparently, she was not as aloof as she wanted to play herself off as being. The real question was why.

She did not know Emma, that much seemed clear to me. Alan had not recognized her, and she definitely had not intervened in the attack for personal reasons. She _had_ seen me defeat the criminals and my unfortunate display of my Semblance. Mother would be displeased, my agent would be livid if they had seen what I had done without even really thinking. So she had borne witness to what she likely thought was my "trigger event." And now she felt… what? Responsible for me? Worried I might become some kind of rival? Simply curious?

It would be impossible to tell without an actual conversation. Yet this cape of mine seemed not to be the most forthcoming person when it came to personal details. If she were as young as she seemed, the whole gimmick was likely nothing more than an innocent attempt to appear alluring and mysterious. Although… the image of a slashed eye came to mind.

Not innocent, but perhaps still trying to put on airs. Little to no discipline. _Not that I had exactly been a shining example of it at the time_ , the little version of Mother that lived in the back of my head seemed to say. Too aggressive, too eager to hurt. An interesting Semblance, and clearly some practical knowledge of combat, though likely not formally trained from the way she moved. Her Semblance made up for a lot of deficiencies that a less gifted opponent would have learned to remove from their stance and style entirely through hard experience.

If that ability of hers ever failed her, she would definitely end up badly hurt.

With luck, she would end up approaching me. Tracking her down might prove to be significantly more problematic, especially if she got wise to the fact that I could sense her staring at me. If nothing else, she would serve as a useful well of information unlikely to tip off the Barnes family as to what exactly I was.

My thought process stopped along with the car. Alan pulled his vehicle into the parking lot of the repair place, and got out to speak with people inside the little office. Anne looked on, hands resting at the top of the steering wheel.

She blew a bubble in the gum I had not realized she was chewing. The pop startled me in a way that left me feeling vaguely chagrined. Anne raised a smirking eyebrow, offering me a foil-wrapped stick of gum. I took it and started chewing. Her eyes remained trained on my face, as if looking for something.

"How did it feel, going back there?" The joking tone she had used earlier was gone, replaced by the concerned sister I had met coming out of the shower.

Honesty probably would not hurt me here. "I think I expected more." I shrugged. "As it stands, I felt almost nothing."

Anne nodded slowly, then her wry smile returned, melting back into place. "Glad to hear it." The smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "We're going to get you cleaned up," she rubbed the top of my head, just hard enough to be slightly painful, "and then we're going to have a girl's day out, just you and me."

Alan made his way out of the car repair shop and rounded our vehicle before opening the back and taking a seat. His head scraped the car's ceiling, and he looked almost comically oversized for the back seat. "Do you want me to-" I began to sputter, intending to offer him the front passenger seat.

"Drive," he told Anne, ignoring me entirely. My 'sister' dutifully pulled out of the parking lot and got back onto the city's road network.

After a moment back in traffic, Anne's smile went from wry to sly. "Daddy," she said, voice almost toxically sweet, "can Emma and I borrow your debit card for our day out?"Alan blinked rapidly, more than fifteen times in quick succession from my count. "I mean," Anne continued, "I want to make sure I can get her the best haircut in town, and you were planning on replacing her phone anyway right? So I figured we'd get that taken care of for you. And maybe get brunch, or lunch, or see a movie, maybe get some new clothes, I've been needing new shoes for _a while_ and I can't imagine what poor deprived state my sister has been in without me to look after her.."

Alan sighed deeply, then pulled a wallet from his pocket and rifled through it for a moment. "Anything too frivolous, or go over the spending limit, and I tell the school to revoke your scholarship. Understood?" He passed a plastic Lien card to Anne, who took it in hand from behind without looking. She beamed at Alan through the rear-view mirror.

As we stopped at a red light, I felt the shadowed cape begin to catch up. I almost admired her determination to follow us, it must have been tiring for someone without an Aura to keep jumping between buildings like she was. I decided then, for certain, that I would reward her. If she caught up and tried to talk, and actually explained herself, I would deign to listen to her and perhaps even sate what appeared to be her own curiosity.

If she was trying this hard she must want _something_.

The red light turned to green and I gradually felt my stalker slip away and out of my range. If I never saw her again, it would be no great loss. I had only heard her speak a few words, but something about her seemed less than trustworthy.

Best of luck to her in finding me. In the mirror, I found a smile that looked surprisingly like one of Anne's, sly and sarcastic. Was this how Emma smiled? Like she understood a joke that you did not?

Not for the first time, I wished that she had been the kind of girl to keep a journal, just so that I could be that much closer to really understanding her.

We dropped Alan off in the busiest, cleanest area of the city I had seen so far. The average height of the buildings in this district positively loomed over the more rundown business and residential areas of the city I had seen earlier. The architecture really did resemble Vale. My heart ached, just a little. There were even a few genuine sky-scrapers that reminded me vaguely of the Beacon CCT tower.

I cut that thought off before it could grow. I was getting better at that, or so I thought.

Anne wished her father the best at work, and I murmured the same.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, Anne gave me a look out of the corner of her eye. "So, Little Sis, first things first." She paused, but I was unsure whether it was for dramatic effect or if I was supposed to jump in. The pause lasted just slightly longer than was strictly comfortable. "We've got to get that hair taken care of. Mom said that you were thinking of cutting it for a while, do you know by how much?"

I blinked, then shook my head. In my old body, and gods above that was still a strange thought, my hair had been long in its single tail. It was not an uncommon thing among huntresses; Weiss's hair in her own tail was quite long, and the less that was said of Yang Xiao Long's relationship with her locks, the better. All despite the seemingly clear impracticalities such obvious targets represented, making one more likely to be grappled or restrained and pinned. Ruby's cloak had suffered something similar in initiation at the feathers of the Giant Nevermore.

The reason was rather esoteric, as many things relating to Aura were. As it had been explained to me, Aura was the expression of the soul, a person's life force, but also their individuality and self-image. So, embracing a look that made you stand out, that helped you feel confident and resonated with the ideal self you imagined in your heart of hearts was crucial to forming and maintaining peak Aura-functionality. Getting the body, mind and soul to work as one was far from the easiest task, but the results stood for themselves.

I was doubtful that my self-image could ever resonate with my Aura ever again. At least as well as it had. Even if, one day, this truly did become _my body_ , rather than the one I had inadvertently stolen, I doubted that my ideal self would ever stop being that champion who had dared to stand against the forces of the Grimm and Nature themselves. I could never truly be her again.

Pyrrha Nikos, as much as I hated to admit, was dead.

All that was to say that I was not sure exactly how short my hair should be cut. Which was an issue, as I saw a sign for a salon rapidly approaching. I fingered the asymmetrical, ragged locks of Emma's nearly-orange hair. "At least enough to even it out. Maybe even shorter? I honestly do not know."

Anne winked at me. "Maybe I'll ask the stylist to surprise us." She waited another long second, as if expecting some kind of response. But what? Was I supposed to laugh? Cry out in indignation? Brush it off with teenaged derision? If I had not been so carefully drilled by my publicity staff on proper press etiquette, I'm certain that I would have broken out sweating to a noticeable degree.

I snorted. "You know, maybe I will." I feigned confidence, a complete lack of worry at the possible results. It could not be further from my internal reality. Anne had been prodding at me like this all morning, both subtly and unsubtly. Little digs, little jokes, the occasional apparently offhanded comment. Was she testing me, seeing how much my personality differed from the one she expected?

Was there any way at all that she could _know?_

Of course not. The most that the Barneses would be able to come to was that I, or rather Emma, was acting strangely, but that should not be so unusual for the circumstances we had gone through. But still, it seemed like Anne was poking deeper. Preferences, opinions, gut reactions. Speech patterns? Gods above, that was sloppy of me. Mother had taught me to be formal and polite at all times, I doubt that Emma had ever been drilled in the Pre-Mistralian precepts of propriety. But I did not have enough of a base to work from, no holo-recording of Emma talking, little evidence of her writing. I was not a good enough liar or actress to create a convincing facsimile from such things anyway. But if Anne was truly this suspicious already, that did not bode well.

A bell chimed as we stepped through the door of the salon. A quick glance around proved that such places were largely the same on both Earth and Remnant. Odd, but not unusual so far in my current experience. Anne took over talking to the woman running the counter, allowing me to brood.

Should I try to be more chipper, or would that be more suspicious? More sullen, grief stricken by what had occurred? That would certainly require less acting. Or should I hold the course, simply continue to try and work out the best way to explain what had happened.

I was ushered to a seat, and I smiled at the hairdresser as she placed a barber's apron over my shoulder to cover my clothes. What _had_ happened? I still did not truly know. Maybe that was what terrified me the most. I could not explain how I had gotten here, how dying had transported me to this place, to this family, to this _body_.

The hairdresser made idle small talk and I did my best to follow along. Anne, leaning against the nearby wall next to the mirror and sink, chimed in repeatedly, keeping the conversation alive. Or at least, making sure it actually was a conversation. Her eyes never left me.

How could I tell the Barneses what had happened to Emma when even I did not truly know? It seemed that I had taken over, completely and utterly, forced her soul from her own body. And yet, the flashes. The pain. The feeling that had guided me to that house, the melancholy of seeing it. _Blue, faintly swirling within a sea of red_. Were these remnants of the girl I had killed to save my own life? Or was she still inside, somewhere, and I had locked her out of her own mind? Trapped, forced to watch as some stranger, some _alien_ , walked around with her legs, spoke with her voice, hugged her family with her arms? Broke people with _her hands?_

Which was worse?

It seemed that Anne had followed through on her threat, and was currently instructing the hairdresser on what styling I wanted. She had said that I was simply shy. Her eyes had glinted when saying it. I had made enough noises to the affirmative that the scissors wielding woman had gone along, giving me a smile two steps down from patronizing. I felt the deep desire to roll my eyes.

In the corner, a television seemed to be playing some kind of news broadcast. A man in middle age wearing a suit of middling cut and expense, practically the archetype of newscasters no matter what the world, was speaking into the camera. "We reached out to Parahuman Response Team Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown for comment on the successful sentencing of notorious terrorist and villain tinker String Theory to the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center. While she declined a full interview, she did leave us with this brief message."

Those were certainly a lot of words I did not know. What was a Tinker, exactly? The reliance on pseudonyms still seemed silly to me, as well. Did these people really think they were living in a comic book? Apparently there were special prisons for criminal Semblance wielders, or at least the more powerful ones. Not a bad idea, really. If Roman Torchwick had been held in one of those, or perhaps if _that monster Cinder_ had been successfully arrested before she killed the Fall Maiden? Things could have been very different indeed.

The screen changed to white text on a navy blue field, the rotating image of a globe spinning slowly in the background. The newscaster read the writing aloud. "While String Theory's arrest is a great success both for the PRT and for law-abiding people across the country and around the world, it does not mean that any of us can decrease our vigilance. Both the heroes in the Protectorate and the average citizen have an obligation to work together and stay on guard so that we can continue to keep our society safe."

The screen changed back to the face of the reporter, and I mulled over this "Chief Director" and her words. Gut reaction? She seemed no-nonsense, straightforward. Did not allow the press to trip her up, stayed on message and made sure that her tone was strong, even outside of a full proper interview. I liked her.

Granted, I did not know what her position even implied. It certainly sounded important from context, but what exactly was a Parahuman Response Team?

I blinked for a long moment, thinking back over the conversation I had heard last night. Then I felt like a bit of a dullard for not making the connection sooner. PRT, the people Zoe wanted Alan to talk to about my powers. The name implied more of an armed reactive task force than something that provided social services to teenagers. Had there been an implication in what Zoe had said that I had missed, or was the name nearly deceptive?

If they were not a local organization in Brockton Bay, as I had first thought, but perhaps operated across this entire massive kingdom, then the title of Chief Director seemed to imply a great deal of power indeed. Especially if they were tasked with "responding" to crimes committed by rogue Semblance wielders. And what was this Protectorate that Costa-Brown had mentioned? I took down mental notes for my next session with the Search Engine.

Someone used a remote to change the channel from the news broadcast to some kind of staged comedy. I did not interject, as much as I might have wanted to. I had enough to think about already. Adding to my list of questions without being able to sate my interest would only drive me mad.

The remainder of the salon service passed in relative quiet. Anne and the stylist continued their conversation that all three of us pretended included me. Finishing with her initial work with the scissors, the hairdresser washed my hair with products Anne insisted on, then gave me the finishing touches over the course of the next several minutes.

The results were… impressive. There must have been a reason Anne had decided on this particular salon, after all. The cut was artfully done, short but just longer than what might be described as a "pixie cut," allowing for a plethora of potential styling options.

I stared into the mirror. I did not look like Pyrrha Nikos, Champion of Mistral, with her tail of crimson. I did not look much like Emma Barnes either, though. A new look for a new life, perhaps? Maybe my aura would resonate with it, maybe not. Only time and experimentation could truly tell.

Anne and I both thanked the stylist, and I continued to stare at myself for a while longer while she paid. It might have been embarrassing to be dragged out by my distracted wrist, if I had had more pride to hurt. Instead, I did my best to simply accept it as a sign of her earnestness.

"Come on, baby sis, we've got Dad's card and all day to spend it!" she laughed as we stepped out onto the street. She gestured grandly to the bustling city around us. "The world is our oyster, Ems! What's the first thing on the agenda now that you're presentable again?" She winked, as if to reassure me that the end of her question was, in fact, a joke.

"He threatened to get your scholarship taken away. Shouldn't you be worried about something like that?"

Anne shook her head, wagging a finger in my face. "Oh ye of little faith. Already talked to mom. We've got nothing to worry about on the parental front. Got you checked off for a new phone, some new duds, and maybe a boyfriend if we see anyone cute on the Boardwalk."

That actually got a reaction out of me. Startled blushing, not a good look in my old body and I doubted it was better in Emma's. Damn her. Damn her and her sparkling eyes and mischievous grin.

She threw an arm over my shoulder as she began to escort me off. "There's the little twerp I know and tolerate! Wondered what it would take to make you crack." She leaned down and pinched my cheek like I was her chubby grandchild. "Already have somebody in mind? Someone from school? One of your little friends from modeling class?"

"No!" I shouted, maybe a little too loudly, indignant on Emma's behalf. And, perhaps, on my own as well. Anne continued to laugh as my stomach sank. Had Emma had someone she was interested in? Someone she watched pine after someone else? Someone she longed to have the courage to confess to, only to ruin it for herself in the last minute? Someone she'd never get to be with because _some cruel bitch had robbed her of her only chance?_

The irony was not lost on me. More than a little of the anger that boiled up inside me was pointed inward. In a way I was just as bad as the Woman in Red.

It was harder to keep up a fake smile as Anne led me by the shoulder further down the street. Despite the warm summer air, the faint scent of sea salt on the breeze, all I could feel was cold.

After a few minutes of walking we found ourselves at a store that I figured Earth people thought looked futuristic. In point of fact it looked like an older Atlesian Armory display room, or perhaps an under-serviced SDC dust clean whites and omnipresent back lighting on every surface was almost distracting from the wares Anne had me look over.

Without a real grasp of holograms, what passed for Scrolls were these somewhat disappointing devices of black glass, metal and plastic. The screen would light up and respond to touch, but could not expand or project in three dimensions. Their ability to access Search Engines as well as send basic communications apparently earned them the title of "smart" phones. If these specimens were the intelligent variety, I would hate to see what the locals thought of as dull.

The store clerks gave the impression that this technology was relatively new and quite sophisticated. I decided to humor them as they sang the praises of various models. "All the features you could imagine!" they seemed to say. I felt the need to roll my eyes. Perhaps if you lacked creativity. Or came from an alien world with entirely different power sources.

Anne pointed out a design that she had apparently purchased with the pay from her former job. It seemed of equal functionality, which was to say _limited,_ as the rest of them, but at a middling price. As much as Anne (and, if she was telling the truth, Zoe) were apparently giving the go-ahead to spend like a prodigal, I felt no need to take more of Alan's lien than I had to. Of course, it was only after picking out one of the allegedly smart phones that I discovered that the things were apparently quite fragile, which meant that I also ought to purchase some kind of protective case. It was quite frustrating. The store clerks insisted that they had a wide variety of cases, that they served as a vital accessory to any young woman's outfit. I ignored them. If the devices really were so fragile, then I ought to get something durable, especially if this was to replace the one Emma had lost in the attack in the alley. Of the more rugged cases, only one was even remotely interesting, all blue and silver with the image of a polearm worthy of a professional huntsman emblazoned across the back. Officially licensed, the clerks chirped in. I nodded.

When she saw what I had picked, Anne nudged me in the ribs. "I thought Taylor was the Armsmaster fangirl, Ems. Isn't Legend more your type?" I simply blinked at her, and she rolled her eyes. Between the two of us, there seemed to be a lot of that going around.

"I thought it looked cool." I simply left it at that. It was true. From the stylized rendering it was difficult to tell if it was truly a piece of mechashift weaponry, but it certainly had the right look. I wondered if I could possibly find the right tools and materials to replace Miló and Akoúo̱. Unlikely, even on the Barnes' budget. In all our time wandering between shops we had not found a single huntsman supply store, much less a weapon emporium. And why would we, in a world without Grimm, I was forced to remind myself. Still, the case reminded me of home, and this way I could drop my pitiful glass communications device without worrying of it breaking. I bet if I used my Semblance to catch it in mid-air the polarity would wipe whatever stood in for a memory drive completely.

Another nearly an hour in total inside, we were back out on the street. Anne made another joke about setting off a "nerd alert" regarding the cell phone store's staff, and I politely went along. We crossed the street towards the sounds and smells of what I imagined was the city's eponymous Bay, towards a boardwalk that Anne seemed to revere as a proper noun.

More importantly, crossing the street brought a familiar tingling presence back to my Aura. It seemed my stalker had caught up, and was finding it more difficult to stick to rooftops as the average roof became lower and more exposed. I allowed myself a small grin at the girl's predicament. She was still welcome to catch me, after all. I wondered how long it had taken to catch up to where we had been, and how long it had taken to jump around, trying to determine where we had gone. A little honest work never harmed anyone.

The Boardwalk appeared to be part tourist boutique district, part artistic flea market. With rows of small, intentionally quaint shops and cafes on either side, ringing in a central anarchic mass of little stalls with glass figurines, caricature paintings, and various other crafts. Stationed at strategic points across the area, and occasionally roaming between kiosks were men and women in dark, intimidating uniforms. Each of them had the physique of a trained fighter, and the expression of a duelist long between tournaments. Likely a sub-par combination. They had the look that, on Remnant, I would tag as "huntsmen drop outs." Disreputable, jaded with the world around them, loyal only to their paymasters and eager for violence at the first provocation. If I was in top form as my old self, armed and equipped as a huntress I could likely take all of them at once. In Emma's body, I gave them almost even odds.

Then I remembered that they didn't have aura. Perhaps that estimate had been overly generous.

Regardless, they did not seem to take any particular note of a pair of well dressed young women out for a day in the shops. Seeing the scores who seemed practically the same as us, I got the distinct sense that I would have had to actively try to successfully draw attention to us.

Huh. I could blend in here. What a strange, novel thought. Here, nobody knew who I was, and not just because of the face I wore. Gods below, they had never even _heard_ the name of Pyrrha Nikos before. I could practically float on the anonymity. Finally, my own person.

Or rather, distinctly _not_ my own person, just not in the same way as it had been under Mother and my publicity team. I could make friends on my own terms now, but what about the friends that Emma already had? I could act however I cared to, but what was left to her?

Anne and I went window dressing through several of the stores, looking at outfits, occasionally going to try things on. Several of the items we looked at had price tags that practically made my eyes bulge, if the local lien was worth anywhere near the same value as the lien at home. Anne picked out a new pair of shoes, well made but relatively simple flats, and _insisted_ that I find myself a new jacket. I got the distinct sense that Anne grew more powerful the longer I indulged her, but I was not sure I had the power to resist her even if I wanted to at this point.

Thus, I was dutifully looking over a rack of designer jackets when the bell over the shops door dinged. There was a change in the atmosphere of the little building, and I quickly felt eyes directly on me.

She'd caught up.

I made sure to keep her in my peripheral as she lazily looped around displays, slowly working her way toward me. It was almost subtle. I got my first real look at her, and my initial suspicion was confirmed. She was not wearing her cloak from the night before. Instead, she had traded it for the much better disguise of looking completely normal. A gray hooded jacket, black shorts and shoes clearly designed for running, dark brown skin where visible. For some reason, I could have sworn that I remembered her being taller.

I made sure to give her no indication that I saw her coming. Her approach was not so much a predatory stalk as it was a slightly nervous meander. It was almost endearing, in a certain way. Almost like one of my shyer fans when I did public signings. The puffed up chest, straight back, powerful stance that were all so clearly affectation. Trying to put out an air of dangerous confidence, and if I were a normal thirteen year old girl I might have fallen for it. Unfortunately for her, I was not. I had dealt with her type before, both in and out of the arena, and they always broke like everyone else.

I always came away with the sense that their theatrics were always to convince themselves most of all.

She approached as I lifted one of the nicer red jackets up to eye level to inspect it. My aura practically screamed at me as she lunged forward, and it took all of my willpower to let her until the last possible second.

I caught her wrist before she could touch me. I made eye contact with her out of the corner of mine, and hers widened in surprise. Channeling a bit of Anne, I cocked an eyebrow at her. "I thought I was supposed to come to you?"

The dark little girl did not seem to find my joke particularly funny. She tried to pull against my grip but it was solid iron. After a long moment, she whistled low. "You're strong." I nodded, because it seemed like the appropriate response. "Left back pocket."

I cocked my head at the non-sequitur, and she grinned. For just a moment, just a flash of a second, her image blurred, becoming ghostly and translucent. Her wrist fuzzed between my fingers, and in a snap she was back to normal. A casual onlooker might have thought it a trick of the light.

She was off like a bullet before I could lash out a hand at her again. That caused quite a bit of commotion, as the attendant at the purchasing desk stood from her stool and began to shout for security. Another employee rushed up to me, asking if I was alright, and that brought Anne back from her hiatus on the other side of the shop. I told both that no, I had not been stolen from, and after a quick search through my pockets and purse they believed me.

That quick search _had_ revealed something, though. Wadded up paper, exactly where she had said it would be, stuffed into the deeper reaches of the left back pocket of my jeans. Even with my aura subtly up, I had not felt her touch me. Had she passed through the fabric of the pocket to plant the note there? That had… let's say unwholesome potential.

Anne shook her head. "I hope the rent-a-cops catch her. Seriously, who would be dumb enough to try to pickpocket in the middle of the Boardwalk?"

I nodded as we left the shop with our purchases (at a discount, for our troubles), the paper tucked between two fingers. "Who indeed?"

She smiled, then laughed again. "Well, sis, it's been fun. Now I know how much both of us enjoyed Mom's _absolutely delicious_ oatmeal this morning, but it has been a while and I seem to remember a certain favorite crepe stand of someone's that happens to be nearby." She waggled her eyebrows at me, and I shrugged. But I could not keep the smile off of my face.

We crossed the Boardwalk and I sat down with our bags at one of the little outdoor wicker dining tables set up around the crepe stand. Then, as Anne went to go put in our orders, I unfolded the piece of paper the dark girl had given me.

The message was short. An address I did not recognize. And a time.

_Midnight. Come alone._


	9. Forward 2.4

_—_ _Forward—_

She was definitely playing up the _dark and mysterious_ angle. I almost laughed at the offer. It was the sort of thing you would see as a plot point in an Old Mantle opera, or perhaps a spy movie. Childish. Not that I had ever been any kind of secret agent but I could at least guess that this was not, in fact, how these things were done.

The question was, do I humor her or not.

The police had called her a dangerous vigilante, and I was inclined to believe them. True, Team RWBY had done more than their fair share of unsanctioned action against Torchwick and the White Fang in our second semester, so that did not mean that the accusation itself was damning. But there was something about her that did not sit right with me, and if interacting with her got me tangled up with the law, then it was best avoided. On the other hand, she might serve as a source of information on life as someone with special abilities that was untainted by whatever propaganda likely ruled the Search Engine. On the metaphorical third hand, her information was likely to lack objectivity and perspective as it would come from a thirteen year old girl.

Alan and Zoe had mentioned the Wards. They might be a useful avenue to explore as well, if the vague hints I had gotten about the organization lead towards what I thought they might. But they would also be associating with Emma's parents, thus making information on my true nature more likely to find its way back to them.

Decisions, decisions, choices and conundrums. Ah! Anne had returned. With crepes! The first bite I took, a lovely blend of sugar, cream and raspberries, affirmed to me why exactly this particular vendor was Emma's favorite. I dug into them with gusto before I noticed Anne watching me. This time she seemed… fond. Her smile was the most sincere and understated I had seen it all morning. I looked up at her, mouth slightly still full of food, and swallowed. "What?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Nothing." She turned away, looking over the shops of the boardwalk to the distant sea and sky behind them. Almost wistfully. "When mom called I was so worried that I was going to find you wrapped up in bed, refusing to talk to anyone. That you would shut me out if I tried to help." She set her plate down on the table, still not looking back at me. "I had to come anyway. I knew I couldn't let my baby sister deal with that on her own. Mom and dad are great and everything, but still…" she trailed off. When she finally turned back around I could see faint tears in her eyes. "Thank you for not shutting me out. I'm glad you're okay."

The guilt burned. It ripped between my ribs, severed my wind pipe. I could not breathe, much less respond. I gasped, then coughed. Hammering my clenched fist, including the back of my fork, into my chest as if to clear something I had choked on.

Had this been what I had seen in her looks, her prodding? Not suspicion, but worry? Not traps laid to reveal my lies, but attempts to cajole her sister into acting like her old self?

Alan, Zoe, Anne. They all cared so deeply about her. About their daughter, their sister. They deserved to know the truth. I owed it to them all to tell the truth.

I owed it to Emma to determine what it was.

Anne dabbed at her eyes with one of the food stand's napkins, laughing slightly. "Damn it, there I go again. I'm sure seeing your amazing, inspiring big sister cry wasn't exactly on your list for today's priorities, was it?" We both laughed at her blend of self-deprecation and faux-narcissism. We continued to eat, though it only took long enough to provide a brief lull in the conversation. I could have gone for more, but it seemed inappropriate.

"So, movie?" Anne pitched to me. "We're almost at matinee time, and blockbuster season hasn't really wrapped up yet. I heard some not-terrible things about that new action movie." She shook her head, wiping what remained of the tears from her eyes without in any way smudging her impressive makeup. "Can't believe they still let Bruce Willis still do those kinds of movies at his age."

That struck me cold. I'm sure that whatever expression crossed my face was both hard to determine and difficult not to laugh at. Still. Just…Bruce Willis? The coincidence was too contrived, too ridiculous. I burst out laughing, loudly, publicly. Likely embarrassingly. Anne stared at me for a long moment before laughing a bit herself.

"That sounds great."

_—_ _Forward—_

The film was far from incredible. This Willis was not quite the same as his apparent Remnant counterpart, yet apparently acted in the same rough caliber of productions. The acting was reasonable for what the cast had to work with. The special effects, particularly the gunplay and explosions, would likely be very convincing to someone who was not intimately familiar with the workings of both. So, likely most of the audience. The dialogue was not particularly inspired, outside of some truly great one-liners and one section of reasonably witty banter. The plot was a catastrophe.

But gods long forgotten it was fun. Just the sort of movie that Jaune and I could have laughed together with, pointing out the inaccuracies while still going along with the jokes. It would have made a lovely date.

Not to say that Anne was unpleasant, far from it. But she was Emma's sister, and rumors of my trysts with other trainee huntresses were highly exaggerated, regardless.

That was to say that the film provided a solid ninety minutes of distraction from the various turmoils plaguing me. Do I meet with this mysterious cape? How to determine what happened to Emma? What to tell her family?

I thought about all of it as Anne drove us home. I would like to think that the banter was much less one-sided on the way back.

Arriving at home, we discovered that Zoe was mid-call with one of her clients, but that she left a note saying that Emma had been pulled from the rest of this week's modeling classes. Which meant that I was free to do whatever I wished with the remaining time before Alan's return and dinner. Anne sat herself right down on the couch and began flicking through channels with the remote, muttering something about not having a good cable package at her own apartment.

I stole up to my room to set up my new device. Apparently it had to be charged in a wall outlet before it was fully usable. The natural limitations of non-Dust batteries, I had to assume. Maybe I should stop being so judgmental. It just seemed like such a step backwards.

I had been sure, back in the shop, to get a phone capable of accessing the internet and the Search Engine. More importantly, it would let me use both while leaving my search records that much further from Alan's immediate grasp. Even if there was some kind of parental monitoring system built into the phone itself, at least it was not the same terminal he used in his own home office.

Waiting for the device to charge was torturous. I had an organization and its leader to research, after all. Yet, it was also time I desperately needed. Time in which I had nothing else to do but follow the obligation of my own soul.

Well, no more distractions. The Grimm had entered the walls, to ignore it now would be folly.

I sat in the middle of the room, closing my eyes. Ren had always been the one for this kind of meditation, even I had never met someone so in-tune with his own emotions before him. I was a warrior first, a woman of action. My meditation came with spear in hand, assured of victory. But it was worth a try.

I let my Aura flow through me, not shaping it into a shield, not directing it to heal my wounds, not even to seek out nearby dangers. Simply let it _be_ , to move in its natural state. When it pulsed, it was the crest of the wave. When it receded, it was the tide. When it swirled, it was the current. My Aura embraced me as I embraced it.

My heart slowed, my breaths deepened, and I searched inside myself.

I had no real idea what I was even looking for, of course. Meditation was usually about simply noticing thoughts that passed without judgement, comment, or focus, letting the mind flow like a river. I flowed with the river, but it felt almost like I was facing upstream, trying to see something behind me as the waters crashed against my face. A poor metaphor, but the best I could come up with.

I thought of the headaches, how they had struck so severely in the wake of of gaining this body, climaxing when I had finally gotten into the car with Alan and Zoe. I drifted, remembering the strange melancholy that filled me as I stood outside that crumbling house, the unconscious steps that had taken me there.

To search without searching is to find what cannot be found. Mistralian wisdom which, as it usually did, felt like a contradiction in terms, more aphorism than true proverb. It felt like I was cutting out the middle and just searching without finding.

Time slipped away from me. I replayed each moment, each feeling, let it fill me to try and discover what I was missing. _Panic, first. Then desperation, frustration, rage. Then longing. Now… grief._

All of it was _blue_. In that strange way of colors beyond colors and thoughts beneath thoughts, in that strange sense that only true masters of Aura, of which I could not be counted, could truly describe, each memory was suffused with the color. Shot through here, blotted with it there. Blue like summer sky, blue like the ocean surface, blue like a lover's eye.

I reached out, to try and grasp the ephemeral color, but I could not. Something was preventing me. Something like a great distance, though I was so close. Something like a great barrier, though I could find no wall. As I pressed forward, red met blue. Colors pulled apart, leaving only blank void. Colors swirled together, twining like strings, melted to become one. More feelings came then, tinged purple. _Confusion, loneliness, joy_ , a flood of emotion too great for any single source. _Curiosity. Recognition._ Blue strained forward to meet red, and the connection deepened.

I saw a city skyline beneath an unbroken moon. Smelled the dew of a forest where seasons never changed. Felt the comforting embrace of a father's arms. Heard the voice of a mother, always faster to reproach than to praise. I pointed my toes and lifted my leg, bracing my hands against the bar while avoiding looking at myself in the mirror. I was thrown against the training mat, ears ringing. Moment after moment, memories surged through me, not giving me time to decipher what they meant.

I felt the warmth of that wide familiar smile of a girl more sister than friend. I felt the cold shock in the eyes of a boy always less than a lover, as he was pushed into the locker.

_Pain._

I saw myself in the mirror, and my reflection was not my own. My blue eyes met her green. No, that wasn't right, was it?

_**Pain.** _

I pressed ever inward. If I just forced myself to keep going forward into the blue, I could cross that vast expanse of nothing, break through that great open wall. If I could just-

_**PAIN.** _

Worse than the headaches, worse than the attacks. I was torn away. Purple shattered as red returned to red and blue returned to blue. I convulsed. My eyes shot open and breath filled my lungs.

I was no longer sitting, I noticed idly as I looked around the room. I blinked. I was splayed out across the long carpet of the bedroom, slick with cold sweat. The blinding pain between my temples receded like the riverbank in a drought.

What… what had happened? What I had seen, I could not process. It went without saying that I had never experienced anything like it in all of my other attempts at meditation. That rush of emotion, those colors, that expanse without distance and formless barricade separating them? Those memories, they felt like mine. _They were mine_ but also… not. My father had died before I was even born, and I had never had any close friends before Beacon.

I wiped drool from around my lips.

There was only one conclusion to draw. I had shared some of Emma's memories. They were still there, merely hidden and locked away. More than that, I had _touched her soul._ It was not the same as the process of unlocking someone's aura, but it was similar enough to bear recognizable traits in common.

Her light, her passions and her fears, they were all still there. Emma's soul was still present, somewhere in our shared mind, our shared body. I felt a much more conventional headache begin to come on as I tried to wrap my brain around the concept. There was something keeping her soul separate from mine, that much was clear, and it had left me in charge of controlling the body, somehow. I thought. Maybe.

Sometimes it was a damned shame I was both too young and too professional to drink.

This was good news, though. Wasn't it? If Emma's soul still existed, that meant I had not killed her when I had stolen her body. That meant that Emma might one day be reunited with the family that so clearly cared for her. If only I could bridge the gap between us, could I bring her back to a state of control?

_But what would that do to me?_ A small voice, a selfish voice, whispered deep inside. _Would we exchange places with how she is now, locked inside a body I had no control over? Or worse, would breaking that barrier force me out entirely? Turn me into a revenant spirit, forced to roam this land with no person to see or hear me? Or worse, die again, to be consigned to complete oblivion?_

I had already lived my life. It had been short, yes, but I had decided to ascend Beacon Tower knowing full well what awaited me at the top. I had already accepted death. I should be fine with the idea, willing to sacrifice myself again so that this girl I had already harmed could live a happy and complete life of her own.

Should.

Willing?

I grit my teeth and rolled over, pushing myself to my hands and knees. I was afraid. No, I was _terrified._ I wanted to tear my hair out from the roots, scream at the top of my lungs, flee into the night. _I didn't want to_ _ **die**_ _again._ I had no guarantee that such would not be my fate if I brought Emma back to herself.

But sacrifice requires uncertainty. You can never know the results of any gamble, and no stand is guaranteed to succeed.

Yet, stands have to be taken when the cause is just. Dice have to be cast if the need is dire. Sometimes, you had to stand on that uncertain precipice without knowing if you could possibly survive, or even if your death would mean anything in the end.

None of that mattered. Worry, fear? Pathetic and transitory.

What mattered is that someone stood when it was required. That someone gave what must be given, that someone did what was right _because it was right, and because it must be done._

"Emma," I whispered, coals stoking in the pit of my stomach, "if you can hear me now, know this. I swear to you, on the blood of my mother's mother. I swear on my shield, I swear on my soul and I swear on my honor as a huntress, I _will_ find a way to free you from this."

Dim and quiet, I could almost say I felt a response. The faint blue crept forward into my awareness, formed as if from dissipating mist.

_Hope_.

And…

_Fear._

A quick rap at the door roused me from contemplating what had happened. Zoe's voice came from beyond the door. "Emma, dinner's nearly ready. Come help set the table while Anne goes to pick up your father."

I got to my feet and looked at the clock on the dresser. Wow, time really had gotten away from me there.

I opened the door, meeting Zoe who seemed surprised that I had responded so quickly. I gave her a bright, warm smile.

"Sure thing mom."

Zoe's expression softened at that, and she returned my smile.

Dinner was lovely, far livelier than yesterday. I laughed with Anne, shared in Alan's gripes about work, and was quick to offer a helping hand whenever Zoe needed it. All the while, that faint presence in the back of my mind seemed to fade in and out of my awareness. I did my best to open myself to it, but it seemed that whatever rift or wall was keeping me from Emma was doing the same to her. Still, with the small step we had taken, there seemed to be little pain.

Emma was alive. And, for the moment at least, so was I.

After dinner, I set up my new cell phone. A less painless process than I had expected, but still somewhat aggravating. After some trial and error I found my way to accessing the internet for some additional research into the city of Brockton Bay itself, as well as into the Parahuman Response Team. The latter search brought me to a site called the Parahumans Online Wiki, which had a wealth of information on the PRT and its associated organizations, the Protectorate and the Wards.

None of them were exactly the same as Huntsmen, of course. Different duties, different obligations and that absurd obsession with masks. Still, if these pages were anything to go by then they had a noble purpose in addition to the official backing of this kingdom's government. Perhaps, after I had resolved this situation with Emma I (she? _we_?) could join these Wards. Not quite a huntsman academy, but at least a team.

The time passed quickly after the sun went down. Everyone else seemed eager to get to bed after the events of yesterday and last night, judging by when each set of footsteps came up the stairs. Meanwhile, I gathered the darkest clothes I could find in Emma's closet, of which there were quite few. That did not bother me too badly. Dark greens, blues and reds blended better into the night than blacks and grays anyway.

I let nearly an hour pass after the last of the bedroom doors had closed before I opened Emma's window. The night air was cool and clear, or at least as much as it could be in a city like this. Still, it felt pleasant. Free.

I readied my Aura and stepped out into the night.

The jolt of going from the second story to the garden was incredibly minor. I was sure that what little of my power had gone into preventing me from turning an ankle would be returned by the time I reached my destination.

Carefully, almost casually, I took off at a brisk walk.

Time to meet my stalker.


	10. Forward 2.5

_—_ _Forward—_

The city took on an altogether different character at night. That should not have been as surprising as it was. In the daytime, ironically, the bad parts were easy to miss. Or at least to ignore. All that stood out in the light of the street lamps were the warning signs. When they were even working.

The address the girl had written in her note was definitely in the worse part of town. It was almost hard to believe that these graffiti-ridden alleys with streets overflowing with trash shared the same city as the quaint shops on the boardwalk. It seemed like nearly every fifth building on this street was abandoned, what with all of the boarded up windows. Not to mention the gutters. I held my breath as I stepped over a large, sour smelling plastic bag, its black plastic slit and spilling forth its contents like the entrails of a beast unlucky enough to wander into a Grimm's territory. The distinct chittering and squeaking of rats set my nerves on edge.

What seemed like a much worse sign was how much larger this section of the city seemed to be. Emma's neighborhood was an isolated island of luxury inside of a collapsing residential area. The business district Alan worked in seemed half the size of this swathe of blight that I had been walking through for the last several minutes. How much of this city was a facade, hiding these appalling conditions? It wasn't like inequality was a particularly new concept to me, but I could not remember an area of Argus or Mistral that ever seemed quite this destitute, even with the infamous reputation of the latter's underworld.

I glanced down at the screen of my phone. The best point in the device's defense was its built in navigation feature, which had kindly drawn up directions to the address the young cape had given me. It was almost creepy how accurately it was able to follow my movements, suggest the next turn and show the way on its little virtual map. Grudgingly, I had to admit it seemed even more accurate than the tracking ability of scrolls at home. But it felt conspicuous every time I checked it. A young girl, periodically losing track of her surroundings by staring at a screen, ruining whatever night vision she might have otherwise been able to build. All while flaunting the value of what she had on her person. It was a wonder that no one had attempted to rob me yet.

There seemed to be fewer vagrants sleeping or wandering the streets as I got closer to my destination. That could be either good or bad. It could mean this section of the city was better maintained and better policed. Or it could mean that it was too dangerous a place for someone without the protection of a home to stay.

I kept my eyes peeled and my aura ready as I turned the corner. Much of the graffiti in this sector was in a language I could not read or recognize, incorporating images of sinuous, snakelike dragons, often in red or green spray paint. Even I could recognize signs of gang activity that blatant. Every so often I would catch sight of someone, or sometimes a small group of someones, standing just outside of the pale rings cast by the streetlights, cloaked in the thin shadows between them. Leaning lazily against walls, occasionally marked by the tell-tale orange glow of the end of a cigarette, small groups often talking quietly to each other. More obscured than hidden, giving off airs of suspicion and boredom in even measure. Where the colors had not simply bled to grey, I could see that the jackets matched the paint on the walls around them.

I kept my head down and continued to walk as quickly as possible without drawing attention to myself.

This whole idea was clearly a mistake. The appropriate time to turn around, walk back to Emma's house and sink into her _very comfortable_ bed had already passed, however. I had already come this far, I had to see it through. If the girl was planning to ambush me, though, I would have to find a way to make her regret it. That definitely would not be worth losing sleep over.

A light chime and vibration from the phone in my hand informed me that I had arrived at my destination. I looked around, but there was nothing in particular to set this building, or even this entire street, out from the others around it. Maybe it was marginally cleaner, but that was not saying very much. No cloaked vigilante in sight. I doubted I could really see her smoky shadow form in this darkness, but my aura was quiet as well. I ducked into an alley, continuing to look around. Nothing. No sign of her anywhere. What was I missing?

A second passed. The breeze kicked an empty bag of chips against my shoes. It was an embarrassingly long second, considering that I was the only one there to recognize it.

I could have slapped myself. My eyes left the grimy streets and crumbling walls, looking up, tracing over the rusting latticework of fire escapes going up several stories. I really was not bringing my best to this particular match, that was certain. Sure, I had a lot on my mind, but that was no excuse. The shadowy cape had been overly fond of leaping between rooftops when chasing me down. Must come with the territory of thinking that a useful Semblance made you into some kind of comic book superhero. Just like this entire world.

The corroded bars of the fire escape did not seem particularly pleasant to try to climb, from the rough, occasionally jagged and unstable air they put off. But somehow I doubted that Emma had been in the habit of five story vertical leaps, so those were right out until I really got this body's training dialed in. And so, I ended up carefully climbing my way up, then slowly crept up the switchback rows of aging iron steps. The steps did not go all the way to the roof, which necessitated hauling myself up after a short hop, hopefully not dirtying the sleeves of my jacket too much on the rough shingles. It was a less than dramatic entrance to strike, but it was late and I was tired.

She was waiting for me, of course. Not that she would have let me know that, crouched as she was on the lip of the roof at the other side, overlooking the city beneath her, back to me. Cloak flapping faintly in the breeze. If she had been a little faster I might not have seen how quickly she turned around from watching me finish my climb to strike that pose. So determined to appear aloof. Stoic. _Cool._

There was not much of a point to rolling my eyes when her back was turned, but there I went. I got to my feet and dusted myself off. "When you said to come find you the first time," I said, keeping my voice low to avoid carrying while doing my best to maintain a casual tone, "I thought you were going to make it a little more difficult than showing up and giving me directions."

She did not turn to respond, still maintaining her vigil over the dark streets below. "You went straight back to the alley the next morning. That takes guts. Didn't want to just waste more time." She turned, pretending that it was the first time she had seen me tonight. Behind her mask, her eyes caught the moonlight as they flicked to my hairline. "I thought it looked better long."

I ran my fingers through what remained of Emma's hair, pushing it to the side. "Evening it back out with what those guys took out of my scalp seemed a bit harder than I would have thought." I shrugged, then took a moment to look the girl over. Like Ruby, the cloak did little to disguise how short she was. The outfit beneath it was padded, but in the way that civilian sport uniforms might be padded, not like actual armor. The mask too seemed like it might be some kind of sports facial protection. It all seemed so… cobbled together. Cheap. The cloak probably came from a holiday store. Oh sure, it all fit inside a theme. All dark, mysterious, intimidating, if you didn't look too deep and see how slapdash it really seemed.

So why? Why all the attempts at theatrics? Without Aura, without the need to align to a distinct image, what purpose could it all serve? Sure, padding was practical, facial protection was _practical._ But the cloak?

It all came back around to my biggest question about Earth.

Why pretend to be a superhero?

The girl lifted the mask, letting it ride up over her forehead, turned her head, and spat on the shingles a few feet to the left of both of us. I crooked an eyebrow. "Got what was coming for 'em, didn't they?" Even in the dark, her brown eyes almost seemed to flash.

"You could say so. They did not seem like the nicest people I have ever met."

She laughed at that, short and mostly humorless. Leaving the mask up, I got a better look at her face than I had gotten previously, illuminated at just the right angle by the moon above. Thin, strong features, deep brown skin and eyes, but more than anything she looked… young. Too young to be regularly grappling with dangerous criminals.

"Scum. The word you're looking for is scum." Her tone and eyes were hard, but I could not bring myself to disagree. Not after my own short experience with the gangsters, where they had threatened to tear up Emma's face. And for what? Clout? Some kind of initiation? It was absolutely barbaric, no better than the bipedal Grimm who dared to call themselves human. Not on the same scale as Cinder, maybe, but the same cruelty. Still, the contempt in the girl's voice was concerning. What could have happened to this girl, to make her so cold?

"So, what made you so interested in me? Why did you care enough about me finding my way here that you came to hand deliver the directions? Because you certainly did not seem that interested the first time." That still, passionless way she had crouched on the hood of Alan's car as the thugs held me down.

She shrugged. "Had to see what kind of person you were. You showed me, and more importantly, you _showed them."_

My raised eyebrow inched even further up. It took a lot of self control to not show more of a reaction. What kind of reason was that, to leave someone to their attackers just so you could see a different part of them? See if they were _worthy_ of saving? The very thought was repulsive. What if I had not come along? What if Emma actually _did_ need to be saved, but this girl had hesitated and let her receive a permanent, life-changing injury? Or worse? Would that be worth a look at what kind of person I am?

Maybe I was jumping to conclusions.

"And what kind of person is that, exactly?" I did not entirely succeed in removing the hostility from my tone.

"A survivor." She said it with no real emotion, no affectation, and for the first time I felt like she was being entirely serious with me, not just trying to put up a tough front. "Someone who fights back. Someone able to stand up for herself, someone able to turn the hurt around on someone who tries to hurt them." She smiled a little bit. "Someone able to make those wannabe tough guys shit themselves once they realized who they're fucking with."

I crossed my arms, shifting my weight slightly to one leg as I crouched down to her level. "And if I wasn't? If I couldn't fight back?"

She shrugged. "There even a point in asking? We're both here aren't we?" She paused, then let out a long breath. "The way I see it, there's two kinds of people. You either get stronger when things go bad, when things break down, or things break _you_ down. Survivors and victims, predators and prey. First group always end up coming out on top because they have what it takes to adapt, to take the hits and keep going. If the other's can't keep up?" She shrugged in such a way that silently articulated "who cares?" My blood chilled, the contents of my stomach started to sink and churn. There was definitely something wrong with this girl. I had heard spiels like that before, but from the old leathery bastards that had never been made official huntsmen. The types that hated the kingdoms and spent their entire lives trying to set up settlements on the frontier. The kind who allowed constant danger to sharpen their awareness while dulling their empathy, who saw everything, every other _person,_ as nothing but a list of potential resources and liabilities. Sure, it kept you alive, especially if you had to live without a steady group in land occupied by the grimm. Some of the most respected pioneers had such an attitude.

So did the most infamous bandits. The ones that were not just blood hungry psychopaths, Grimm with masks of skin instead of bone. The ones that robbed you of your food, your Dust, your weapons, and expected you to _thank them_ for letting you keep your life. When I was at Sanctum, I had caught bits of a public trial of one such captured outlaw on television. Vacuo justice was notoriously unconcerned with protocol and procedure, but for this man they had made sure to go through all the proper channels, publicize every moment in the court, to make an example of him before his inevitable execution. He had been remarkably stoic throughout the proceedings, had not denied a single charge. That was probably part of what turned it into a media circus, his cool demeanor and willingness to freely admit what he had done worked wonderfully on camera. When allowed his final words in court, he had simply told the media and jury "In the desert, there's only one law: survive. I'm a law abiding man. Guess that makes the rest of them the real criminals." The detached coldness of how he said it, without any hint of madness or malice, the iron-hard apathy and self interest apparent in his eyes even across thousands of miles, those had always stayed with me.

How could I see those same eyes in the face of a girl barely into her teens, on an entirely different planet?

She was still talking. My mind raced as I thought through the implications of what she had said, trying to keep up.

"Predators and prey, I like that one the most. You're either strong enough to survive on your own, or you're weak and you get eaten. And I'm a hunter."

That sent me reeling. _No, you aren't,_ I argued back silently, _you could never be a huntress. Not like that. A huntress stands between the weak and those that would destroy them. They sacrifice so that other people can live safe, happy,_ normal _lives. We hunt threats to the innocent, not the innocent themselves._

"On this violent, brutish little planet of ours, it's the survivors that wind up being the strongest of all." That had the sense of a mantra to it, a practiced, memorized line. Who had told her that? Worse, who had made her believe it? Did _predators_ like Cinder deserve whatever they could take, simply because they were strong, because they were able to survive? Did the weak deserve to be consumed or left to die just because they couldn't stop them?

_What did I deserve?_

Tremors began to rock the roof, nails rattling, straining against the shingles they held in place, surrounded by a dim black glow. Beneath me, the world trembled. It was only then that I noticed my racing heart, the gasping of my breath, the deep, roiling cloud of crimson that covered me as my Semblance inadvertently activated.

Rage. Rage like I had not experienced in _years_ filled me as I stared across the rooftop at the girl who spoke so flippantly, so casually, so _cruelly._ It boiled up from my stomach, hot as molten bronze. It vibrated through me, up from my ankles to the crown of my head. She stopped talking then, as I stood back to my full height, looking up at me with a look just less than real fear. How _dare_ she.

"We're done here." There was an odd cast to my tone that I did not recognize, like the shaking of the roof was making my voice reverberate. _Discipline,_ I could practically hear Mother admonish me, ready to rap my knuckles with a practice spear. _Control yourself._ With an effort I wrenched command of my Semblance back from its apparent mind of its own, ending the shaking of the roof before it drew more attention than it might have already done.

I turned my back on her. Coming here in the first place was a waste. A waste of time, a waste of sleep, surely. In some ways, a waste of hope that this girl might be able to help me understand this place I had found myself in. But of whatever _understanding_ she might have had, I wanted no part.

I took two steps before I heard her hiss "Wait!" in low shrill tones. For some reason, I let it stop me.

"Give me a good reason I should listen to anymore of that." I stood stock still for a moment, then when nothing immediately came I took another step.

"The cops didn't get all the ABB guys last night, right? Some of them got away." Her tone expressed some actual strain, it seemed that her pretense of strength was starting to crack, if only just a little.

I did not take the final step back to the fire escape, but also did not turn around. "What of it?"

"I-I was able to chase one of them down, after the fight. Got him to talk. Didn't know much, but he did tell me a few things." She _really_ didn't want me to leave. Why? Why was she so concerned? "He told me where one of the ABB stash houses is. Where they keep some of the drugs before giving it out to the sellers on the street. And it's where they keep the new girls short-term before shipping them out to the _farms_ outside town." Despite how cruel and callous she had sounded before, that last part had been spoken with genuine disgust.

I whirled on her, eyes blazing. "What!?"

She hissed at me again. "Not so loud!" Both hands were up in a placating gesture. "Yeah, it's gross, it's awful, I know. Even the Empire doesn't do shit like that and I have more reason to hate them than anybody. But the guy said that's where they were thinking of taking you before they decided it was too much trouble."

The white-hot flame of righteous anger in my stomach cooled, slightly doused with a cold, cloying slime. If I was inferring correctly from what the girl had said… I wanted to throw up. That could have happened to Emma?

"Do they have anyone there now?"

"Not that the guy knew, but he wasn't there all that often, he was just one of their street punks. Apparently they shift locations around every so often too, just to keep the cops off the trail. The ones they didn't already pay off, anyway."

I set my jaw, holding my breath before letting it out slowly over the course of three beats. Corruption. Bribery and willful blindness among the police was a believable story to me, even considering the source. I met the girl's eyes. "And if it's a trap? What reason did your man have to tell the truth?"

Her eyes seemed honest, slightly frightened, uncertain, with just the slightest hint of satisfaction. It was held just as much in the tension of her shoulders and back, in the way she bent her knees. This was what she wanted, but it scared her all the same. "I saw what you did yesterday. You're strong, your power must make you a natural fighter or something, right?"

I looked down at Emma's hand, the red light of my Aura illuminating the shadows cast by the moonlight. "Something like that." Easier than explaining that _I_ had trained in fighting for a decade, while Emma had not.

The girl did not smile, not exactly. But her posture started leaning more in that direction. "My power makes me the perfect scout. I can go through walls, get in and out of anywhere. And I can't get hit when I use it. I figured I'd scope it out, and if it's legit we both go in and sweep up. Ruin some thugs' day, get to be heroes. Maybe walk off with some of the cash before the boy-scouts show up." I glared at her, but she stood her ground. "Hey coppertop, not all of us have a rich daddy we can cry home to. Cracking skulls is hard, _dangerous work._ I feel like I should get my cut if we pull this off. Do whatever you want with yours, go found a home for orphaned kittens or whatever if you really care that much." Her eyes leveled with me, her tone deadly serious. "But this might be your best chance to hurt the guys that hurt you, or at least their friends, and do good in the meantime. Maybe even save some other poor _victim_ from getting it even worse than you did."

I let out a long, low breath, running a hand through my hair. This girl was dangerous, both in terms of her power and in terms of what she seemed to believe. One of the core principles of a warrior's discipline was "right action governed by right morals." Could you have the first without the second, as she seemed to? That talk about victims, about the role of the powerful, something about it struck a chord in me at exactly the wrong frequency. But that did not mean she was necessarily wrong, either.

I could see the web of manipulation as it closed in, but that did little to help me avoid it. If there really were trafficking victims at this place as she seemed to think, then was I not duty bound to rescue them? I certainly could not ignore it. And there was already a ready-made excuse not to turn the information over to the authorities until after we had already liberated those involved. Sure, she had been the one to plant the idea of police collusion with the gang, but that did not mean it was not true. There was no way to tell, but it made the idea of going in first that much more attractive. If I could not turn away, and could not pass the issue up to authority, then I would have to go myself. And, of course, if I were to go then it would be simple foolishness not to bring this girl along as well, just to have an extra set of eyes and hands outside of the possible uses for her power.

Maybe she was more cunning than I had given her credit for, earlier.

"Why me?" I asked in a low, quiet tone. I felt much of the powerful emotional energy escape from me then, leaving me just as much the resigned and confused husk I had felt like for most of the last twenty eight or so hours. "Why gather all this information and try so hard to get my attention?"

She snorted. "Don't give yourself too much credit, princess. I've wanted an excuse to give the ABB a black eye for a while now, maybe make 'em fear the night as much as they fear their boss. Make 'em reconsider their career or something, I dunno." She shrugged, again, before continuing. "It's like I said before, you're a survivor. One of the best kind, one like me. You got _stronger_ after the crisis, and you turned it into somebody else's crisis instead of yours." If only she knew. I was still in crisis, one which I doubted she could even comprehend.

She fingered the strap keeping her mask secured to her forehead. "I don't usually do the partner thing, or the team thing. I work alone, always have." Ah, and there was the return of the "first year combat school" bravado I had seen earlier. She couldn't have been doing this for more than a few months. "But…" she paused, reflectively, and it seemed to be almost genuinely painful for her, "I'd never seen someone trigger before. And like I said, you're _strong._ I bet we could wipe up the entire ABB outside of Lung and Lee if we really wanted to, and you're brand new." I almost could have laughed. It was nice to be included in someone else's power fantasies outside of being the champion to be defeated.

"As much as I hate to admit it, without some better gear I don't think I would be able to handle an entire house of ABB guards on my own, and I can't get that better gear without more money, which will take way longer to get if I can't get a bigger score. You just so happen to show up, literally fall into my lap, another independent cape that can help put a fear of the dark back in those guys. It just all fit together so nicely, y'know?"

Childish reasons, as I had thought, but that did not mean that they failed to be genuine. Under all of the cynical, borderline callous talk and the attempts at bluster and intrigue was a girl in sports padding and a five-lien cloak playing at being a superhero. But that did not even seem to be abnormal in this world, so who was I to judge. And maybe, even under the self-serving motivation, and the pain that had to be the explanation for some of her more callous thoughts, maybe this young girl was isolated and wanted a friend.

I felt like I could recognize the type, after having been one for so long. Sure, I had made up for my own lack of friendship with excellence and grace rather than bile and an attempted air of mystery, but that still might not put it too far off.

Unfortunately for her, I was not interested in being this girl's friend. Not yet at least. Maybe if I got to know her better her "predator versus prey" dichotomy could be explored, explained, maybe broken down. But the girl still did not seem particularly pleasant to be around. At least she seemed honest. It was that honesty that let me decide that she was worth taking along to look over this criminal hive in the first place. Afterward, I don't see much reason to stick together. My priority had to be figuring out a way to get Emma free from her own mind, after all.

But for now, for this immediate need? She would do.

For honor, for duty, and for the good of others, forward into the dark.

I held my hand out to her, and she took it. Her smile badly disguised how smug she seemed to feel, but was no less genuine for it. "Sophia," she said, completely unprompted, shaking my hand before leveraging it to haul herself to her feet. I counterbalanced, expecting it. "But you can call me Shadow Stalker."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and sneer. "Pyrrha," I told her, with little hesitation. No reason to lie if she had no connection to Emma in the first place. "I don't have a fancy superhero codename yet." I could not say it with a straight face, and she laughed a little in return.

"Pyrrha, huh? What kind of name is that? Any idea where it's from?"

That got me to laugh, at least a little. "Not from around here, that's for sure."


	11. Forward 2.6

_—_ _Forward—_

The city took on an altogether different character at night. That should not have been as surprising as it was. In the daytime, ironically, the bad parts were easy to miss. Or at least to ignore. All that stood out in the light of the street lamps were the warning signs. When they were even working.

The address the girl had written in her note was definitely in the worse part of town. It was almost hard to believe that these graffiti-ridden alleys with streets overflowing with trash shared the same city as the quaint shops on the boardwalk. It seemed like nearly every fifth building on this street was abandoned, what with all of the boarded up windows. Not to mention the gutters. I held my breath as I stepped over a large, sour smelling plastic bag, its black plastic slit and spilling forth its contents like the entrails of a beast unlucky enough to wander into a Grimm's territory. The distinct chittering and squeaking of rats set my nerves on edge.

What seemed like a much worse sign was how much larger this section of the city seemed to be. Emma's neighborhood was an isolated island of luxury inside of a collapsing residential area. The business district Alan worked in seemed half the size of this swathe of blight that I had been walking through for the last several minutes. How much of this city was a facade, hiding these appalling conditions? It wasn't like inequality was a particularly new concept to me, but I could not remember an area of Argus or Mistral that ever seemed quite this destitute, even with the infamous reputation of the latter's underworld.

I glanced down at the screen of my phone. The best point in the device's defense was its built in navigation feature, which had kindly drawn up directions to the address the young cape had given me. It was almost creepy how accurately it was able to follow my movements, suggest the next turn and show the way on its little virtual map. Grudgingly, I had to admit it seemed even more accurate than the tracking ability of scrolls at home. But it felt conspicuous every time I checked it. A young girl, periodically losing track of her surroundings by staring at a screen, ruining whatever night vision she might have otherwise been able to build. All while flaunting the value of what she had on her person. It was a wonder that no one had attempted to rob me yet.

There seemed to be fewer vagrants sleeping or wandering the streets as I got closer to my destination. That could be either good or bad. It could mean this section of the city was better maintained and better policed. Or it could mean that it was too dangerous a place for someone without the protection of a home to stay.

I kept my eyes peeled and my aura ready as I turned the corner. Much of the graffiti in this sector was in a language I could not read or recognize, incorporating images of sinuous, snakelike dragons, often in red or green spray paint. Even I could recognize signs of gang activity that blatant. Every so often I would catch sight of someone, or sometimes a small group of someones, standing just outside of the pale rings cast by the streetlights, cloaked in the thin shadows between them. Leaning lazily against walls, occasionally marked by the tell-tale orange glow of the end of a cigarette, small groups often talking quietly to each other. More obscured than hidden, giving off airs of suspicion and boredom in even measure. Where the colors had not simply bled to grey, I could see that the jackets matched the paint on the walls around them.

I kept my head down and continued to walk as quickly as possible without drawing attention to myself.

This whole idea was clearly a mistake. The appropriate time to turn around, walk back to Emma's house and sink into her _very comfortable_ bed had already passed, however. I had already come this far, I had to see it through. If the girl was planning to ambush me, though, I would have to find a way to make her regret it. That definitely would not be worth losing sleep over.

A light chime and vibration from the phone in my hand informed me that I had arrived at my destination. I looked around, but there was nothing in particular to set this building, or even this entire street, out from the others around it. Maybe it was marginally cleaner, but that was not saying very much. No cloaked vigilante in sight. I doubted I could really see her smoky shadow form in this darkness, but my aura was quiet as well. I ducked into an alley, continuing to look around. Nothing. No sign of her anywhere. What was I missing?

A second passed. The breeze kicked an empty bag of chips against my shoes. It was an embarrassingly long second, considering that I was the only one there to recognize it.

I could have slapped myself. My eyes left the grimy streets and crumbling walls, looking up, tracing over the rusting latticework of fire escapes going up several stories. I really was not bringing my best to this particular match, that was certain. Sure, I had a lot on my mind, but that was no excuse. The shadowy cape had been overly fond of leaping between rooftops when chasing me down. Must come with the territory of thinking that a useful Semblance made you into some kind of comic book superhero. Just like this entire world.

The corroded bars of the fire escape did not seem particularly pleasant to try to climb, from the rough, occasionally jagged and unstable air they put off. But somehow I doubted that Emma had been in the habit of five story vertical leaps, so those were right out until I really got this body's training dialed in. And so, I ended up carefully climbing my way up, then slowly crept up the switchback rows of aging iron steps. The steps did not go all the way to the roof, which necessitated hauling myself up after a short hop, hopefully not dirtying the sleeves of my jacket too much on the rough shingles. It was a less than dramatic entrance to strike, but it was late and I was tired.

She was waiting for me, of course. Not that she would have let me know that, crouched as she was on the lip of the roof at the other side, overlooking the city beneath her, back to me. Cloak flapping faintly in the breeze. If she had been a little faster I might not have seen how quickly she turned around from watching me finish my climb to strike that pose. So determined to appear aloof. Stoic. _Cool._

There was not much of a point to rolling my eyes when her back was turned, but there I went. I got to my feet and dusted myself off. "When you said to come find you the first time," I said, keeping my voice low to avoid carrying while doing my best to maintain a casual tone, "I thought you were going to make it a little more difficult than showing up and giving me directions."

She did not turn to respond, still maintaining her vigil over the dark streets below. "You went straight back to the alley the next morning. That takes guts. Didn't want to just waste more time." She turned, pretending that it was the first time she had seen me tonight. Behind her mask, her eyes caught the moonlight as they flicked to my hairline. "I thought it looked better long."

I ran my fingers through what remained of Emma's hair, pushing it to the side. "Evening it back out with what those guys took out of my scalp seemed a bit harder than I would have thought." I shrugged, then took a moment to look the girl over. Like Ruby, the cloak did little to disguise how short she was. The outfit beneath it was padded, but in the way that civilian sport uniforms might be padded, not like actual armor. The mask too seemed like it might be some kind of sports facial protection. It all seemed so… cobbled together. Cheap. The cloak probably came from a holiday store. Oh sure, it all fit inside a theme. All dark, mysterious, intimidating, if you didn't look too deep and see how slapdash it really seemed.

So why? Why all the attempts at theatrics? Without Aura, without the need to align to a distinct image, what purpose could it all serve? Sure, padding was practical, facial protection was _practical._ But the cloak?

It all came back around to my biggest question about Earth.

Why pretend to be a superhero?

The girl lifted the mask, letting it ride up over her forehead, turned her head, and spat on the shingles a few feet to the left of both of us. I crooked an eyebrow. "Got what was coming for 'em, didn't they?" Even in the dark, her brown eyes almost seemed to flash.

"You could say so. They did not seem like the nicest people I have ever met."

She laughed at that, short and mostly humorless. Leaving the mask up, I got a better look at her face than I had gotten previously, illuminated at just the right angle by the moon above. Thin, strong features, deep brown skin and eyes, but more than anything she looked… young. Too young to be regularly grappling with dangerous criminals.

"Scum. The word you're looking for is scum." Her tone and eyes were hard, but I could not bring myself to disagree. Not after my own short experience with the gangsters, where they had threatened to tear up Emma's face. And for what? Clout? Some kind of initiation? It was absolutely barbaric, no better than the bipedal Grimm who dared to call themselves human. Not on the same scale as Cinder, maybe, but the same cruelty. Still, the contempt in the girl's voice was concerning. What could have happened to this girl, to make her so cold?

"So, what made you so interested in me? Why did you care enough about me finding my way here that you came to hand deliver the directions? Because you certainly did not seem that interested the first time." That still, passionless way she had crouched on the hood of Alan's car as the thugs held me down.

She shrugged. "Had to see what kind of person you were. You showed me, and more importantly, you _showed them."_

My raised eyebrow inched even further up. It took a lot of self control to not show more of a reaction. What kind of reason was that, to leave someone to their attackers just so you could see a different part of them? See if they were _worthy_ of saving? The very thought was repulsive. What if I had not come along? What if Emma actually _did_ need to be saved, but this girl had hesitated and let her receive a permanent, life-changing injury? Or worse? Would that be worth a look at what kind of person I am?

Maybe I was jumping to conclusions.

"And what kind of person is that, exactly?" I did not entirely succeed in removing the hostility from my tone.

"A survivor." She said it with no real emotion, no affectation, and for the first time I felt like she was being entirely serious with me, not just trying to put up a tough front. "Someone who fights back. Someone able to stand up for herself, someone able to turn the hurt around on someone who tries to hurt them." She smiled a little bit. "Someone able to make those wannabe tough guys shit themselves once they realized who they're fucking with."

I crossed my arms, shifting my weight slightly to one leg as I crouched down to her level. "And if I wasn't? If I couldn't fight back?"

She shrugged. "There even a point in asking? We're both here aren't we?" She paused, then let out a long breath. "The way I see it, there's two kinds of people. You either get stronger when things go bad, when things break down, or things break _you_ down. Survivors and victims, predators and prey. First group always end up coming out on top because they have what it takes to adapt, to take the hits and keep going. If the other's can't keep up?" She shrugged in such a way that silently articulated "who cares?" My blood chilled, the contents of my stomach started to sink and churn. There was definitely something wrong with this girl. I had heard spiels like that before, but from the old leathery bastards that had never been made official huntsmen. The types that hated the kingdoms and spent their entire lives trying to set up settlements on the frontier. The kind who allowed constant danger to sharpen their awareness while dulling their empathy, who saw everything, every other _person,_ as nothing but a list of potential resources and liabilities. Sure, it kept you alive, especially if you had to live without a steady group in land occupied by the grimm. Some of the most respected pioneers had such an attitude.

So did the most infamous bandits. The ones that were not just blood hungry psychopaths, Grimm with masks of skin instead of bone. The ones that robbed you of your food, your Dust, your weapons, and expected you to _thank them_ for letting you keep your life. When I was at Sanctum, I had caught bits of a public trial of one such captured outlaw on television. Vacuo justice was notoriously unconcerned with protocol and procedure, but for this man they had made sure to go through all the proper channels, publicize every moment in the court, to make an example of him before his inevitable execution. He had been remarkably stoic throughout the proceedings, had not denied a single charge. That was probably part of what turned it into a media circus, his cool demeanor and willingness to freely admit what he had done worked wonderfully on camera. When allowed his final words in court, he had simply told the media and jury "In the desert, there's only one law: survive. I'm a law abiding man. Guess that makes the rest of them the real criminals." The detached coldness of how he said it, without any hint of madness or malice, the iron-hard apathy and self interest apparent in his eyes even across thousands of miles, those had always stayed with me.

How could I see those same eyes in the face of a girl barely into her teens, on an entirely different planet?

She was still talking. My mind raced as I thought through the implications of what she had said, trying to keep up.

"Predators and prey, I like that one the most. You're either strong enough to survive on your own, or you're weak and you get eaten. And I'm a hunter."

That sent me reeling. _No, you aren't,_ I argued back silently, _you could never be a huntress. Not like that. A huntress stands between the weak and those that would destroy them. They sacrifice so that other people can live safe, happy,_ normal _lives. We hunt threats to the innocent, not the innocent themselves._

"On this violent, brutish little planet of ours, it's the survivors that wind up being the strongest of all." That had the sense of a mantra to it, a practiced, memorized line. Who had told her that? Worse, who had made her believe it? Did _predators_ like Cinder deserve whatever they could take, simply because they were strong, because they were able to survive? Did the weak deserve to be consumed or left to die just because they couldn't stop them?

_What did I deserve?_

Tremors began to rock the roof, nails rattling, straining against the shingles they held in place, surrounded by a dim black glow. Beneath me, the world trembled. It was only then that I noticed my racing heart, the gasping of my breath, the deep, roiling cloud of crimson that covered me as my Semblance inadvertently activated.

Rage. Rage like I had not experienced in _years_ filled me as I stared across the rooftop at the girl who spoke so flippantly, so casually, so _cruelly._ It boiled up from my stomach, hot as molten bronze. It vibrated through me, up from my ankles to the crown of my head. She stopped talking then, as I stood back to my full height, looking up at me with a look just less than real fear. How _dare_ she.

"We're done here." There was an odd cast to my tone that I did not recognize, like the shaking of the roof was making my voice reverberate. _Discipline,_ I could practically hear Mother admonish me, ready to rap my knuckles with a practice spear. _Control yourself._ With an effort I wrenched command of my Semblance back from its apparent mind of its own, ending the shaking of the roof before it drew more attention than it might have already done.

I turned my back on her. Coming here in the first place was a waste. A waste of time, a waste of sleep, surely. In some ways, a waste of hope that this girl might be able to help me understand this place I had found myself in. But of whatever _understanding_ she might have had, I wanted no part.

I took two steps before I heard her hiss "Wait!" in low shrill tones. For some reason, I let it stop me.

"Give me a good reason I should listen to anymore of that." I stood stock still for a moment, then when nothing immediately came I took another step.

"The cops didn't get all the ABB guys last night, right? Some of them got away." Her tone expressed some actual strain, it seemed that her pretense of strength was starting to crack, if only just a little.

I did not take the final step back to the fire escape, but also did not turn around. "What of it?"

"I-I was able to chase one of them down, after the fight. Got him to talk. Didn't know much, but he did tell me a few things." She _really_ didn't want me to leave. Why? Why was she so concerned? "He told me where one of the ABB stash houses is. Where they keep some of the drugs before giving it out to the sellers on the street. And it's where they keep the new girls short-term before shipping them out to the _farms_ outside town." Despite how cruel and callous she had sounded before, that last part had been spoken with genuine disgust.

I whirled on her, eyes blazing. "What!?"

She hissed at me again. "Not so loud!" Both hands were up in a placating gesture. "Yeah, it's gross, it's awful, I know. Even the Empire doesn't do shit like that and I have more reason to hate them than anybody. But the guy said that's where they were thinking of taking you before they decided it was too much trouble."

The white-hot flame of righteous anger in my stomach cooled, slightly doused with a cold, cloying slime. If I was inferring correctly from what the girl had said… I wanted to throw up. That could have happened to Emma?

"Do they have anyone there now?"

"Not that the guy knew, but he wasn't there all that often, he was just one of their street punks. Apparently they shift locations around every so often too, just to keep the cops off the trail. The ones they didn't already pay off, anyway."

I set my jaw, holding my breath before letting it out slowly over the course of three beats. Corruption. Bribery and willful blindness among the police was a believable story to me, even considering the source. I met the girl's eyes. "And if it's a trap? What reason did your man have to tell the truth?"

Her eyes seemed honest, slightly frightened, uncertain, with just the slightest hint of satisfaction. It was held just as much in the tension of her shoulders and back, in the way she bent her knees. This was what she wanted, but it scared her all the same. "I saw what you did yesterday. You're strong, your power must make you a natural fighter or something, right?"

I looked down at Emma's hand, the red light of my Aura illuminating the shadows cast by the moonlight. "Something like that." Easier than explaining that _I_ had trained in fighting for a decade, while Emma had not.

The girl did not smile, not exactly. But her posture started leaning more in that direction. "My power makes me the perfect scout. I can go through walls, get in and out of anywhere. And I can't get hit when I use it. I figured I'd scope it out, and if it's legit we both go in and sweep up. Ruin some thugs' day, get to be heroes. Maybe walk off with some of the cash before the boy-scouts show up." I glared at her, but she stood her ground. "Hey coppertop, not all of us have a rich daddy we can cry home to. Cracking skulls is hard, _dangerous work._ I feel like I should get my cut if we pull this off. Do whatever you want with yours, go found a home for orphaned kittens or whatever if you really care that much." Her eyes leveled with me, her tone deadly serious. "But this might be your best chance to hurt the guys that hurt you, or at least their friends, and do good in the meantime. Maybe even save some other poor _victim_ from getting it even worse than you did."

I let out a long, low breath, running a hand through my hair. This girl was dangerous, both in terms of her power and in terms of what she seemed to believe. One of the core principles of a warrior's discipline was "right action governed by right morals." Could you have the first without the second, as she seemed to? That talk about victims, about the role of the powerful, something about it struck a chord in me at exactly the wrong frequency. But that did not mean she was necessarily wrong, either.

I could see the web of manipulation as it closed in, but that did little to help me avoid it. If there really were trafficking victims at this place as she seemed to think, then was I not duty bound to rescue them? I certainly could not ignore it. And there was already a ready-made excuse not to turn the information over to the authorities until after we had already liberated those involved. Sure, she had been the one to plant the idea of police collusion with the gang, but that did not mean it was not true. There was no way to tell, but it made the idea of going in first that much more attractive. If I could not turn away, and could not pass the issue up to authority, then I would have to go myself. And, of course, if I were to go then it would be simple foolishness not to bring this girl along as well, just to have an extra set of eyes and hands outside of the possible uses for her power.

Maybe she was more cunning than I had given her credit for, earlier.

"Why me?" I asked in a low, quiet tone. I felt much of the powerful emotional energy escape from me then, leaving me just as much the resigned and confused husk I had felt like for most of the last twenty eight or so hours. "Why gather all this information and try so hard to get my attention?"

She snorted. "Don't give yourself too much credit, princess. I've wanted an excuse to give the ABB a black eye for a while now, maybe make 'em fear the night as much as they fear their boss. Make 'em reconsider their career or something, I dunno." She shrugged, again, before continuing. "It's like I said before, you're a survivor. One of the best kind, one like me. You got _stronger_ after the crisis, and you turned it into somebody else's crisis instead of yours." If only she knew. I was still in crisis, one which I doubted she could even comprehend.

She fingered the strap keeping her mask secured to her forehead. "I don't usually do the partner thing, or the team thing. I work alone, always have." Ah, and there was the return of the "first year combat school" bravado I had seen earlier. She couldn't have been doing this for more than a few months. "But…" she paused, reflectively, and it seemed to be almost genuinely painful for her, "I'd never seen someone trigger before. And like I said, you're _strong._ I bet we could wipe up the entire ABB outside of Lung and Lee if we really wanted to, and you're brand new." I almost could have laughed. It was nice to be included in someone else's power fantasies outside of being the champion to be defeated.

"As much as I hate to admit it, without some better gear I don't think I would be able to handle an entire house of ABB guards on my own, and I can't get that better gear without more money, which will take way longer to get if I can't get a bigger score. You just so happen to show up, literally fall into my lap, another independent cape that can help put a fear of the dark back in those guys. It just all fit together so nicely, y'know?"

Childish reasons, as I had thought, but that did not mean that they failed to be genuine. Under all of the cynical, borderline callous talk and the attempts at bluster and intrigue was a girl in sports padding and a five-lien cloak playing at being a superhero. But that did not even seem to be abnormal in this world, so who was I to judge. And maybe, even under the self-serving motivation, and the pain that had to be the explanation for some of her more callous thoughts, maybe this young girl was isolated and wanted a friend.

I felt like I could recognize the type, after having been one for so long. Sure, I had made up for my own lack of friendship with excellence and grace rather than bile and an attempted air of mystery, but that still might not put it too far off.

Unfortunately for her, I was not interested in being this girl's friend. Not yet at least. Maybe if I got to know her better her "predator versus prey" dichotomy could be explored, explained, maybe broken down. But the girl still did not seem particularly pleasant to be around. At least she seemed honest. It was that honesty that let me decide that she was worth taking along to look over this criminal hive in the first place. Afterward, I don't see much reason to stick together. My priority had to be figuring out a way to get Emma free from her own mind, after all.

But for now, for this immediate need? She would do.

For honor, for duty, and for the good of others, forward into the dark.

I held my hand out to her, and she took it. Her smile badly disguised how smug she seemed to feel, but was no less genuine for it. "Sophia," she said, completely unprompted, shaking my hand before leveraging it to haul herself to her feet. I counterbalanced, expecting it. "But you can call me Shadow Stalker."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and sneer. "Pyrrha," I told her, with little hesitation. No reason to lie if she had no connection to Emma in the first place. "I don't have a fancy superhero codename yet." I could not say it with a straight face, and she laughed a little in return.

"Pyrrha, huh? What kind of name is that? Any idea where it's from?"

That got me to laugh, at least a little. "Not from around here, that's for sure."


	12. Forward 2.7

_—_ _Forward—_

In retrospect, I felt like a fool for thinking I could have _possibly_ been prepared to enter the basement. Even with all of the horrors I had experienced in my short life, the loss and destruction I had seen or heard about, there was a level of viscerality to this that was so outside anything I had ever experienced. April, the woman who I had nearly accidentally killed had done her best to warn me, even though talking was difficult for her with the wound on her face, and I thought that I had listened to that warning. But what I saw in the faint, flickering orange-yellow light hanging from the ceiling by a chain… it was too much. Even the depredations of the Grimm could not compare. The Grimm destroyed communities, devoured bodies, ended lives. But they didn't _break souls._

At least all six women I found that day were still alive.

What would I have done, if they had not been? I did not know. What would I feel? What was I even feeling now, as I saw what those _**monsters**_ had done?

 _Disgust_ , first and foremost. I don't think I'll ever be free of that room's smell.

 _Rage_ at the injuries they had been given to keep them in line. Or for sport. Bruises. Untreated open cuts. Broken bones.

 _Horror_ at the wounds they had taken that were less visible, but no less apparent in some of their hollow eyes, in how they held themselves.

All of it mingled, coalescing into a sludge in my guts, stewed in its own toxicity. A boiling pit of darkness that would surely bring Grimm for _miles_ had I been on my homeworld.

I had been _far_ too concerned with avoiding hurting the gang members, before. I wanted to lash out at them, return a quarter of the pain they had inflicted on these innocents back on them. Misplaced honor and the need to stay and care for those I was responsible for was all that held me back from going back upstairs and doing exactly that.

They could _**never**_ be allowed to do anything like this again.

The only emotion absent in the storm that was slowly consuming me was the one that I had been the worst kind of fool to expect. _Satisfaction._ A job well done. Pride in my heroic deed. There was none of that to be had, for what kind of self-congratulatory monster would take joy from all of this suffering, even in its cessation? No, there was no satisfaction to be had here. Relief, perhaps, but nothing to take pride in.

I should not have been the one to do this. Someone else should have stepped up to save them before I came along. Someone else should have stepped in and prevented this from happening in the first place. All of the tearful, sincerely spoken "Thank you, Miss Pyrrhas"s in the world could not drive the thought away. How could something like this have been allowed to happen?

Keeping up my best face for them was the least I could do for them now. I did my best to extend the open hand of human kindness to all of them as I shepherded them upstairs, careful to keep them out of the room that held their captors. I helped tend to the injuries I had the ability to treat. I found scraps of clothes, not enough to return the dignity that had been stolen from some of them. I learned their names. I listened to what they felt the need to say.

I weathered the abuse black-eyed Jennifer screamed at me for not coming sooner. She needed to vent, and I was safer than even her bound captors.

I attended to Lian's impassioned plea that she wasn't a whore, that she didn't want to go to jail. I did my best to calm her, but she could not be reached by words.

Sara Nyguyen's cries for her father as she cradled the foot they had broken to keep her from running away nearly destroyed me. She looked to be about a year older than Emma, two years younger than me. _Ruby's age._

I faced all of it with a smile of warm sympathy, even as I felt the foundation inside me start to crack and crumble. I felt empty, lifeless, an automaton animated entirely by exhausted duty.

So it was that April's muffled hiss of "someone's coming!" from her perch by one of the only remaining windows came almost as a relief. I rose to my feet, then gestured at the room to hush before going to meet April at the crack in the window. Two large, dark vans had pulled up into the back alleyway by the loading dock, with men in similarly shaded body armor forming a perimeter and closing us in. Thank the gods, the vans had the now familiar PRT logo emblazoned on the side, in just reflective enough white paint to catch the light of the streetlamps. I only hoped that there was an ambulance behind them. The online encyclopedia had not been terribly specific, but shouldn't conventional crime have been covered by the local police department?

Well, when you're ringed in by Grimm, you can't turn away a spear. I turned to address the room, and flashed my warmest, most self assured smile, suffused with no small amount of genuine relief. "It looks like our help has arrived." There were a few nods, but no cheer at my announcement. I went to open the back door to begin shepherding my charges out to the authorities, but April caught my arm. Thankfully, it seemed that the bleeding from her wound had slowed, but the makeshift bandage that had once been Emma's hooded jacket still covered most of the left side of her face. Her eyes were determined, though still rimmed with red from her earlier tears. She held her fist out to me, and dropped a dark cloth into my hands. The mask Sophia had given me.

"You should put this back on. You're better off wearing it, it's what they expect from capes."

I swallowed. Something about returning to the anonymity of the mask felt like a backslide, a betrayal of something ephemeral I could not fully grasp. Not to mention that it felt strange to treat the authorities with the same suspicion as the city's organized criminals. April's words were said with such surety, though. I sighed, then pulled the still-slightly-itchy black mask back over my head. I had taken the mask off to better relate to the captive women. If putting it back on helped me relate better to the authorities, then I would wear it. At least for now.

I eased the back door of the ABB safehouse open slowly and smoothly. Nevertheless, my Aura's danger sense lit up with nearly a dozen points of hostile intent as I came out from behind it, careful to keep my hands up. The weapons the PRT men carried were strangely shaped, many bulkier than I would have expected, with rounded canisters or occasionally attached to backpacks with hoses. That set my teeth on edge. Weapons I did not recognize could hardly be considered a good sign.

A figure broke out from behind the line of armed and armored men, and was instantly set apart from the rest by their uniform. The dark grey of the bodysuit would have blended in much better with the shadows and their armored comrades, if not for the faintly glowing lines of blue that traced their way across it, casting a ghostly reflection off of the visor of the figure's helmet. Not a member of the PRT then, but one of the illustrious Protectorate that they worked alongside. Another self-styled superhero.

"Shadow Stalker?" the voice coming from the figure was distinctly female, light but firm.

I shook my head, then realized that with the particularly bad lighting in the alley, that might not be the best method of communication. "No ma'am," I replied. "She was here, but she left." I glanced nervously toward the open door behind me. "But frankly, ma'am, neither she nor I should be your top priority at the moment. There are six people that should come first, including a woman and a girl in need of immediate medical attention."

There was a short, quiet murmur from the line of PRT officers that was quickly silenced. The woman with the blue lines spoke again. "And the ABB?"

It took half of a second to remember not to just nod. Gods below it was getting late. "There are five neutralized gang members inside, four in the front room and one on the second floor."

An edge crept into the woman's tone. "Neutralized?"

A small bubble of anger floated up from my stomach, but I popped it and tried to swallow the fumes back down. "Alive," I said through gritted teeth, "and bound. Though I expect that they will likely require medical assistance of their own, but I think the ones that they kept locked in a basement for who knows how long under threat of pain and death _really_ deserve to take priority." Though this night might have been bringing out the worst in me, on this point the alien anger and I agreed.

Behind the woman in the blue lined suit, one of the officers responded. "We have medics on the team, and an ambulance shouldn't take too long to get here once we've secured the site."

Reflected light flashed across the woman's visor as she nodded and turned back to the PRT man who had spoken. "Give Alpha Team the go-ahead to enter from the other side and begin formally securing the site." She turned back to me. "Is that acceptable?"

I blinked. She was asking me? Why? "Of course, as long as they get their help." I let my hands slowly fall and retreated back through the doorway. The room had been much as I left it. Two of the other women had joined April in her perch in the cracks between the window's boards and had likely been watching the exchange, though I would have bet good lien the rest had still heard through the open window.

"Ready ladies?" I said with as much forced cheer and bravado I could muster. There were a handful of nods and scattered yeses. Yuna simply continued to stare without responding, but two of the others helped her to her feet. I swept Sara up in as gentle a princess cary I could manage, thinking it the best way to keep her from putting more pressure on her injured foot. This new body was not particularly strong, but I had the sinking feeling that this should have been more difficult. Ms. Nguyen was worryingly light.

I let April steady herself against my shoulder, and then led the women out into the night. As I stepped down the short flight of stairs to the street level, a few of the officers broke from the line and came forward to help, and I passed the stick-thin form of Sara over to a large, swarthy man who identified himself as this response team's medic before pointing over my shoulder to April. "She has a laceration across her face due to being grazed by a bullet, it might be more urgent."

More and more of the PRT troopers began to come forward and assist those coming out of the abandoned store. I felt anxious, turning over the care of those for whom I had briefly held guardianship, but they seemed to be doing a reasonable job of it. I let out a long breath I had not realized I had been holding and tried to allow myself to feel slightly less overwhelmed.

The woman in the bodysuit and helmet approached me, and the light cast just well enough to really illuminate her face. Her smile was clearly one that had been practiced to appear inviting and relatable, calming and largely non-threatening. It could certainly use some more work, but if my mouth had not been covered I would have smiled right back, to at least acknowledge the effort.

"I don't happen to recognize you, stranger. Are you new, or just new in town?" Her tone, like her smile, was just a few degrees off disarming, but the intent still seemed genuine.

I shrugged, and suddenly a wave of weariness washed over me. "You could say both."

Her smile grew a touch warmer as she extended a hand to me. "Welcome to Brockton Bay, then." I shook her hand, and did my best to meet where I imagined her eyes were beneath her visor. "You have a name, kid?"

I would have shrugged again, but it would have seemed a bit excessive. "Just Pyrrha, for now."

The handshake broke. "Well Pyrrha, what brings you to a place like this with someone like Shadow Stalker? Pretty ambitious for a first night out."

It was not really a question, but I did my best to answer it carefully. "Shadow Stalker and I had met briefly earlier. She scouted the location but wanted my help to try to clear it out and rescue all the people being held here." I paused, mulling over what to say next. "She was skittish about staying until you all arrived, and we decided that I would stay behind to make sure everyone remained safe until then."

Not quite a lie so much as a bit of spin. Part of me felt that I was being far too charitable with Sophia, after all the horrible things she said and tried to encourage me to believe. How she had stormed out in particular had not left the best of impressions. At the same time… I pitied her. Surely telling her that would only stoke that deep seated anger and distrust she seemed to harbor for the world even more, but it was the truth. And, as much as it might hurt to admit, she had done well in correctly identifying the location of the gang's prison, and in taking out her share of the guards. Surely that should speak in her favor.

Her conflict with the authorities was her own. I saw no need to add to it.

There was a pause between us, but not a silent one as the former captives were being looked over and escorted to vehicles by the PRT. I turned to look over the group, and my companion did the same.

"They needed help. They _need_ help, ma'am. I cannot imagine what some of them have gone through. They will need support I am not able to provide." Across the alley I saw little Sara Nguyen sitting in the open door to one of the vans as the PRT medic looked over her broken foot. She met my eyes, and gave a faint smile.

I swallowed, choking back… what? Something cold, oily and toxic, something I could not allow to come to the surface, a feeling I could not identify if not for its negativity.

"They will need to be protected. The criminals… they might come back for them, and they might do something even _worse_ next time." I flailed for what to say next. "I don't… I don't know what I would do if something like that happened."

The other woman shifted, placing a hand on my shoulder. A faint bead of light seemed to run up the line on her forearm, around her wrist, before blinking out on her knuckles. "Hey, Pyrrha." Her voice was soft, with a sense of kind commiseration that did not have the same practiced air as before. "You saved six people from something terrible tonight. You did something _unambiguously good,_ and I think you need to give yourself some more credit for it, even if it doesn't seem like it was enough right now." I turned to look at her, once again frustrated that I could not meet her eyes. "You confronted something awful, and I think it's going to affect you for a while, but you saved others from it. Remember that."

I shrugged out of her grasp. "Just promise me that you can keep them safe from reprisals."

Her smile slipped slightly, becoming a more serious frown. "PRT isn't in the habit of letting victims like them get thrown under the bus. If they want to testify, I think they might even serve as valuable witnesses when the bosses of the ones here end up going to trial, so we might be able to help them out from that angle too." She sighed. "But if it means that much to you, I give you my word that we'll do all we can for them."

I nodded. "It does, actually. Thank you."

Another PRT squad member approached us from behind, coming down the steps from the safehouse. "Battery, Lieutenant wanted you to know that we've secured the suspects and have called for an additional medical team." He eyed me, but did not address me as he continued. "Five ABB members, like she said. All out of commission, though a few might be bordering on critical. In addition, our first sweep has turned up a significant amount of contraband, but less cash than expected."

Battery, as the woman was apparently known, tilted her helmet toward me just enough to simulate an offhand glance without being able to see through her visor. I smiled somewhat nervously, and tried to portray the same emotion in my shrug when I remembered that just as I could not see her eyes, she could not see my lips. "That was probably Shadow Stalker. I told her I was not interested in stealing from thieves."

Battery muttered something about independence under her breath, before thanking the PRT officer and waving him along. Then she turned back to me, with a smaller smile than before. "Like I said before, you did good work tonight, especially for your first night in town. There's a lot of people that are already grateful for what you've done tonight, and likely even more after word gets around."

She crossed her arms, and I could feel the incoming "but" well before it actually landed.

"It seems like this little operation with Shadow Stalker went about as well as it possibly could have. Doesn't seem like you got hurt, and I have to imagine Shadow Stalker wasn't either if she was able to get away so quickly. You took down five guys with guns, and not all capes can do that." There was another pause. _Here it comes._ "You were safe this time, but what about the next? What if Oni Lee tracks you down on your way back from your next hit, or worse, Lung is waiting in an ambush?"

 _Lung. Oni Lee._ Both names that I had heard mentioned before. They must be capes that worked with this gang, this "ABB", and by the way they were spoken of, they must be quite dangerous.

"You seem like the kind of cape we always need more of, Pyrrha," Battery continued. "I like to think I'm a pretty good judge of character, and you seem like you have a good head on your shoulders. I bet your power is pretty cool too, if you were able to bring those guys in with only Shadow Stalker to help. I know how exciting, how liberating it can feel, to be out on your own, with only your own conscience to answer to. There's something really romantic about being an independent hero. I was there once, I understand."

Her smile dropped. Again, just a little, but it was noticeable.

"But," she said with emphasis, "it's dangerous to be out here doing this kind of stuff on your own. Even with a partner, independents don't tend to last long. Usually only a couple of months, if that. Indie villains usually get shanghaied into another gang as soon as they let their guard down. Heroes, though? Slipping up without support against some of the monsters in this city is a good way to wind up dead."

Despite her hard wording and serious tone, I could tell this was meant as a sincere warning more than a veiled threat. That's likely what Sophia might have seen it as, but I was not nearly so clouded by distrust as she was.

"I'll be careful," I said back, nodding.

Her smile returned slightly. "I'm sure you will. But have you considered joining up with the Wards? I know it doesn't sound as cool as being on your own, having to follow rules and obey superiors that might keep you from doing what you want to do. I was there before, I get that. But trust me, the support is well worth it, and they don't hold you back as much as you might think. I was only able to achieve my own goals after joining, and doing it with help. With a team."

A team. That word struck a chord of longing in me. Jaune, Nora, Ren. I would never see them again, and nobody could ever replace them.

Battery seemed to misinterpret whatever sense I was putting off with my body language, throwing up her hands in a placating gesture. "You don't have to decide right away! It's late, go home and sleep on it. Talk to your parents about it, have them call the PRT for more information. No need to make a snap decision one way or the other."

I shifted my weight onto the heels of my feet, slouching from my stance. Talk to my parents. A bad joke. My parents were in another world, one of them long buried. Alan and Zoe had already mentioned the possibility of my joining the Wards, so they would not need any further convincing. Still, what Battery had been saying had the smell of true Dust to it. With the foreboding way everyone had spoken of Oni Lee, I had no desire to meet him on my own and unprepared. Staying safe until I found a way to free Emma would have to be a priority.

And maybe, just maybe, they might be able to help. My expectations were low, of course. Whatever had happened to push Emma into the back corners of her own mind seemed to be a thing of Aura, of which the people of Earth seemed to lack any knowledge. But with access to all the strange abilities and unknown resources of an organization of comic book superheroes, they might be able to surprise me.

"I have already put some thought into it, ma'am, and you have certainly made a good argument here. I think you might be seeing more of me soon."

Battery laughed, visibly relaxing. "You're certainly respectful, kid. I bet even the Director would appreciate that. We could really use you on the team." She paused, snickering slightly. "And I understand that your friend Shadow Stalker thinks she has good reasons to keep running from us, but I think there's a place on the Wards for her brand of heroism too. With a little modification. Pass that along to her next time you see her, playing cat and mouse with her after each time she calls something like this in is starting to get really annoying, and not just to me."

She waved me off. "We're just about done here, and the PRT and I can handle the rest. You go on home and get some sleep, you've earned it." Without being able to see her eyes I could have sworn she winked at me.

I turned, and for the first time noticed that the space behind the former store was largely clear. None of my former charges were in sight. I let out a long, deep sigh, and with it bled away a knot of tension I had not even noticed I had been holding in my gut. "Yeah," I said, more whispering to myself than responding to the superhero beside me. "Yeah, I think I have."

_—_ _Forward—_

The walk home passed much more quickly than the initial journey to meet Sophia. Some of that must have been because I had a better idea of the route. Some of that must have come from my eagerness to return somewhere safe after what I had seen in that basement. But I think the greatest change was in my own confidence. I stepped quickly, head high, and did not allow myself to be impeded.

Climbing back into Emma's second story window was a bit trickier than jumping out of it had been, especially while trying not to wake anyone. After finally getting the window open and rolling onto the fluffy carpet of the floor, I held my breath and waited for several long moments. Only after I heard nothing did I strip out of the clothes I had worn, minus the jacket I had left in April's care, and slipped into bed.

I had three hours of blissful sleep before the sun rose and I was back on my feet. Steel breaks before discipline, as Mother had always said, and even with my exploits of last night and this morning, I had habits to build. I put on my running clothes and carried my running shoes with me to the stairs, only to find another figure sitting at their foot. Morning rays shone off copper locks and pale skin as Anne turned to look up at me. She waved.

I stepped lightly down to her, seeing that she was similarly outfitted in shorts and a tank top. "Morning, Ems," she said, voice just above a whisper. Her smile was almost sheepish. "I thought I might start running with you for a while. I need the exercise. If that's okay with you."

I yawned, then sat down next to her and began lacing up Emma's running shoes. "That should be fine, as long as you can keep up with me." I winked at her, and her smile grew. She poked me in the side, and I let her, both of us laughing.

"It's good to see you doing so well, Emma."

Her words dampened the laughter in my heart significantly. After a brief moment under my own name, without the mask of Emma's identity, returning to it felt distinctly… off. What's worse, she had no way of knowing if Emma was truly well or not. Neither did I, without further attempts at meditation.

That thought continued to plague my mind as we took off. I kept the pace moderate, even bordering on slow, and not just to let Anne keep up. I was still tired; even after the short period of sleep, my body was exhausted. Even so, I pushed it and let it feed on my aura a little, just as I let my mind continue to feed on my doubts of maintaining this charade with Emma's family.

We stopped briefly in a park to get water from a public drinking fountain, and I was once again struck by how different the various parts of this city could be. The park seemed nice, the trees were pleasant, and it was surrounded by reasonably well maintained residential housing. It was all too easy to imagine what such a park might look like just a few miles further south or east.

I let the sound of the morning birds and the occasional nearby passing car fill my mind. What was I to do? This morning, I had been Pyrrha again, if only in a sense, for the first time since I had died. Going back to being Emma after that made the lie that much more apparent, that much more odious. If nothing else, my adventure with Shadow Stalker last night had taught me one thing.

I was not one for masks.

I tapped Anne on the shoulder as she straightened from drinking at the fountain. She turned to look at me, eyebrow raised as I gestured behind me, deeper into the park. "Walk with me?" I asked, voice surprising me with my own hesitance.

"Aren't we already out jogging?" Anne asked, her expression reading as if she was trying to find the hidden joke in what I had said, and was beginning to grow distressed at not finding one.

I shook my head. "I want to talk, with a lower chance of running into accidental eavesdroppers."

Anne blinked at that, nonplussed, but followed me as I lead her to a quiet, more secluded spot under one of the larger trees in the park.

I turned to face her. Green eyes met blue.

I took a long, steadying breath. Keep moving forward. No way out but through.

"There's… there's something I have been meaning to tell you. Something you need to know."


	13. Forward 2.8

_—_ _Forward—_

What to say? Where to even begin? How did one explain the inexplicable, make someone believe the unbelievable? How do you even _begin_ to describe to someone that you accidentally took control of their little sister's body after you died on a different planet?

"So…" Anne began and trailed off, tone a tense kind of casual. She was clearly on edge, from the hunch of her shoulders to how closely she kept her arms to her body, as if subtly cradling herself, but her eyes flashed with a bit of curiosity as well. The usual joking shine was absent from them. "Does this talk you wanted to have happen to have anything to do with you climbing back into your window at ungodly o'clock this morning?"

I was so focused on trying to put together the opening line of my explanation that it took several seconds after Anne stopped talking for me to register what she had said. That, in turn, derailed my train of thought completely, which proceeded to jump the tracks and explode like an SDC fire dust shipment that found itself the target of White Fang sabotage.

I blinked.

"What?"

Anne sighed, leaning back up against a tree and rubbing her eyelids with her thumb and forefinger. "I have a lot more experience sneaking in and out of the house than you do. I respect the hustle of trying to ninja your way back in through a second story window, but it's definitely not the easiest way to get back in without waking mom and dad up. Or the least obvious."

I swallowed.

Anne ran a hand through her hair, breathing out through clenched teeth. She lifted her head and met my eyes, and I flinched. There was genuine _anger_ there. "I thought we talked about this, Emma! I told you, probably not even twenty-four hours ago, don't go out looking for the ABB!" The fingers that had running over her scalp clenched together for a brief second, before Anne let go and slowly brought the trembling hand to her side. In a cooler tone, no less angry but with hints of worry and relief, she added, "At least you don't look like you got hurt."

I felt my face flush with blood and heat before I could still it. Years of publicity training failed me as I stammered out, "H-how did you know where I was?" I winced. I could not have sounded guiltier if I wanted to. And I had not even bothered to try to deny it, gods below. I could kick myself. Mother would have done worse.

Anne rolled her eyes, then looked off to the left as if refusing to meet my gaze. "Taylor's still at camp and we both know you don't have a boyfriend. Where else could you have gone?"

Unable to choke out words with any value or meaning, I made a noise of affirmation and acknowledgement while nodding along for my own benefit.

"At least you're safe." Gone was the anger from the young woman's tone, filled with weary resignation, concern, and not a little hurt. "I didn't hear you leave, just when you were climbing back in, so I knew you'd have to be. But when we talked yesterday morning I thought you understood me. Thought you agreed with me." She kicked a small clod of dirt from the roots of the tree. "I thought I could trust you."

The words sank me, slammed an artillery shell right through the bottom of my stomach. She was right: she could not trust me.

She finally looked back at me, and I felt myself curl up under her gaze. There were hints of tears in her eyes, I could already tell. "I just want you safe, Emma. Is it too much to ask?"

"No," I finally was able to whisper out. "No it's not."

_I want to keep her safe too._

This time, I was the one to look away. I wrung my hands, shifting from side to side. I had to say it, had to come clean with the truth. She had to know. She _deserved_ to know. That did not stop part of me, something equal parts primal and pathetic, from wanting to flee. To either end the conversation, play it off as a joke, change the subject, charge back into the street, _anything_ but confront and try to explain the reality of my situation. I had stood my ground against more enemies than I could name; you would think I would be better than this at confrontation.

I had not been able to explain the truth to Jaune. Not my feelings for him, not Professor Ozpin's plans for my role with the Maiden's power. I had let fear rule me there, too. Let it rule me to the point of lashing out in panic. How could I expect that I would do better now, with someone I knew much less, but might be even more struck by the truth of what I had to say?

That same problem kept rolling around in my head. That boulder, that insurmountable _mountain_ of an obstacle. How to explain, how to even _begin_ explaining?

Perhaps… with an apology?

I shook myself, then took a deep breath. I lit a fire of focus inside, then tried to feed that breath I had taken into it, fanning it into a blaze. My aura pulsed warmly in response, and I felt my nerves relax, the edges rounded off.

"Anne, I'm sorry," I said with deepest sincerity. "I should have listened to you, but I did not. Shadow Stalker, the cape who came to help me in the alley," _**help**_ _was a strong word_ , "contacted me on the boardwalk and asked me to meet up. We did, and then we rescued some girls from the ABB together."

Her frown twisted on hearing that, the rest of her demeanor growing… _complicated._

"It did involve getting into a pretty big fight with some criminals, yes, but as you can already tell, I was not injured. Shadow Stalker and I captured several gangsters and turned them over to the authorities and were able to get the kidnapped women the help they needed." I paused. "I cannot apologize for that. They needed me, and I was able to help them. But I am truly sorry that I ignored your advice, broke a promise and betrayed your trust."

My own words were able to bolster my courage, if only a little bit. The ground at least felt a little firmer beneath me.

I gave her my best smile. "You are a wonderful sister, Anne, with wonderful parents. You all have so much love in your hearts, you care for each other and trust each other a great deal." I could not maintain the smile, at least not strongly. I let it slip, if only slightly. "I'm sorry for taking advantage of that love."

Anne's expression morphed from "bitter relief with a hint of pride" to "fearful concern" as she took a step toward me, eyes wide. "What are you talking about, Ems? You're not taking advantage of me, or mom or dad. I know I might seem a little mad about you sneaking out last night, but you're still my _sister_. Whatever you've got going on in your head about not deserving help, or whatever other garbage, don't listen to it. It isn't true." Her eyes flicked down to my hands, my wrists, posture growing more nervous by the second.

My stomach sank. It was already backfiring.

Hands up placatingly, I did my best to return to smiling. "It's not that. It is… _something else._ Something that I have been hiding about what happened in the alleyway."

Anne sighed, then audibly ground her teeth. "Do you think I'd be this calm if I thought you went after the ABB with bare hands and no powers? Dad already told me about that, Ems. We all know that you triggered after what those thugs did to you, it's not a secret."

I interjected, "I didn't, actually." A moment of tense silence passed between the two of us. "Trigger, that is. I did not experience a trigger event."

The knuckles of the hand rubbing her brow began to go white. "There's no need to be in denial about it. I already know, mom and dad already know. They said they already talked to you about the Wards, at least a little." The concern in her tone was now mingled with more than a little frustration.

"I am fairly certain that what happened was not a trigger event, but that is beside the point I am trying to make." That was true. There was not a lot of useful information about trigger events that I had been able to find through the Search Engine. Not to say that there was nothing; in fact, the problem was the opposite, with so many conflicting and unsubstantiated theories flying around. I had my doubts that all of Earth's parahumans gained their strange abilities by being possessed by a spirit from another world.

I closed my eyes, trying to recenter myself in my Aura, only to find that it lacked the tranquility I sought. The placid pool had been disturbed with rippling waves, as if my crimson well of determination had been struck with droplets of blue confusion and curiosity. Enough to break the surface, but not enough to change its color. My Aura almost seemed to vibrate with a strange, discordant _buzz._

I set my jaw. Fine then. I would have to venture forward without support from my own soul, if necessary.

"What _is_ the point then, Emma? Because you're really starting to scare me with the way you're talking."

I winced. _Maybe this was not a good time to explain after all_ , the little, terrified part of me seemed to whisper. _She is already agitated. If we explain what happened now, she will likely take it very poorly._

I could not give into that temptation. To leave her now with the lingering questions I had already unearthed would be both childish and cruel, as well as accomplish nothing. I had to press forward.

"I have not been fully honest with you, with any of you, about what happened that night. About what happened to Emma… or to me."

Anne cocked her head at that, face awash in pure confusion. "Emma? I don't understand."

I sighed, gripping one of my trembling hands into a fist and clutching it to my chest. I had to say it. I had a duty to Emma, to the truth, to Anne and her parents. Noxious, anxious fear bubbled up through me, cut with a strange note of… _anticipation?_ I felt like I had on the eve of my first match, before I had been crowned the Invincible Girl, when losing had still felt like a genuine threat in a fair fight. On my toes, stomach twisted, nerves and muscles crackling with energy. I was practically overflowing with nervous energy.

Finally, after an agonizing moment of tense silence, the first crack opened.

"I'm not her," I said, voice low, halting and quiet.

She blinked. "What?"

I straightened my back, standing at Emma's full height, so many inches beneath my own. "I am not her. I am not Emma Barnes," I said, as if slowly gaining momentum, "I do not even really know who she is. I woke up in that alleyway with none of her memories."

The tension in Anne's stance seemed to melt as she sagged in on herself. Her gaze flicked to mine, blue meeting my green. Hers, already beginning to fill with tears. _Devastated._ She took another step toward me, arms outstretched. "None? Oh, Emma, I had no idea. Dad and I suspected something was wrong, but you seriously don't remember _anything?_ "

I stopped her with a gentle hand before she could pull me into an embrace. Her eyes were full of hurt, hurt I internalized easily. It would be so easy just to let her wrap me up, leech off of her warmth.

_So easy._

_I felt so cold._

But I had to keep talking.

Honor demanded.

I obeyed.

My eyes dropped, unable to continue meeting hers. "It would not be accurate to say I have no memories. I have plenty. Seventeen years' worth." I glanced to my left, past Anne, momentarily following the path of a fluttering butterfly as it took off from the trunk of the tree. "Just… none belonging to your sister."

A thick miasma of confusion seemed to waft off Anne in waves. My outstretched hand kept her at bay, for the moment, as she was struck frozen by my words.

"The last thing I remember was dying six weeks before my eighteenth birthday." No need to be more graphic than necessary on that. "Before that, I remember my entire life. I remember friends, school, a mother that is not yours."

I pulsed my Aura, allowing the swirls of red light to engulf my skin, lighting the small space between our bodies. I reached out with my Semblance, felt a small fleck of metal buried in the dirt between us, and gently pulled it up. It wriggled from side to side, like a worm burrowing its way to the surface through an inch of soil, before slowly rising and landing in my palm. A rusty bottle cap, branding scuffed beyond recognition, surrounded by a black glow. A quick glance revealed that Anne's eyes were following it, and I lifted it up from my palm to float between us, rotating slowly in midair.

"I lived most of my life with these powers, before I died. I have had them for years, trained extensively with them." I let the cap orbit around Anne's head, wobbling slightly as it went. She craned her head, trying to follow it as it made rings around her.

I smiled sadly. "My name is Pyrrha Nikos. I know that we've already met, but it feels nice to introduce myself honestly."

Anne snatched the bottle cap out of the air, then looked around nervously. "You can't just go around showing powers off like that! What if somebody noticed you?" I followed her gaze, but there were few people in the park. A distant pair of joggers on the other end, an old man staring at his feet (or possibly asleep) on a park bench well outside of earshot, a young mother and child in the little sand-pit and jungle gym on the corner. Nobody to give away a secret identity.

A poor reason to ignore my introduction.

She stuffed the cap into a pocket, then wiped sweat and tears from her face, continuing to glance around anxiously. "Come on, we have to go home." She took my wrist and began to walk off without meeting my eyes.

I stopped, standing still. An insistent tug came against my wrist, but I stood firm.

This was not at all the reaction I had expected. Shock, horror, anger, those I had been braced for. But to simply ignore my revelation, which ought to explain so much?

It dawned on me slowly. "You… you don't believe me, do you?"

Anne stopped pulling on my arm, but her back was to me. "I don't know what I believe. I know you've been different since the attack, but who wouldn't be?" She turned, yet still did not meet my eyes. "But saying that you've been possessed by the ghost of a teenage cape is pretty unbelievable, Emma."

I ground my teeth. I had not even mentioned Remnant yet specifically for this reason.

"I know it's hard to believe, but I'm not her." I pulled against her grip, and bored my gaze directly into her eyes. She still tried to evade eye contact. "Look at me, please," I asked her, tone hard yet still trying to stay civil. "Look me in the eyes and tell me that they belong to your sister."

Blue hesitantly met green, and then she looked away.

"Look at me, Anne. I know Emma's eyes are blue, just like the rest of your family." She did, wavering, but she held eye contact with me.

My tone softened. "I know it is a lot to take in. I have spent most of the last few days in a state of panic, trying to hide who I am as best as I can. And probably failing, as I can bet I do not talk or act much like your sister at all." The last sentence slipped out with more than a little chagrin.

Blue eyes turned back, just for a fragment of a second, then closed. Shoulders shook gently.

Tears fell.

"It's too much," she muttered, voice shaky and weak. "It's too much, Emma, _Pyrrha_ , whatever. I thought you were doing better." Her breath hitched. "I thought, just maybe, you'd be okay. That I'd be able to help you. But I can't help with… _this."_ She waved her arm in my general direction, before letting it fall to her side, limp and impotent.

The lump forming in my throat was cold and coated in slippery bile. Could I have explained this any more poorly?

I reached out to her, placed a hand on her upper arm. She flinched away, just an inch, then immediately looked riven by guilt for doing so. Slowly, she leaned back, into my hand. I squeezed gently.

"She is still in here, you know," I said, trying to keep my voice warm, reassuring, like I was talking to a child asking where her parents were in the wake of a Grimm attack. I tapped myself on the sternum, then on the side of my head. "Emma, I mean. I can feel her, in my emotions. If I really try, I can almost feel her memories, her thoughts."

A light, sapphire splash of agreement seemed to echo my statement, and despite myself I smiled.

"My… _arrival_ seems to have displaced her, somehow. She is still inside, fighting to get out, to regain control. I have tried to help her, but I am not sure how to do so. But I will, as soon as I can."

I raised my off hand in something of a warding gesture, as if to forestall a concern I just remembered. "I did not intend for any of this to happen! This was a pure accident! I swear on whatever gods you hold to, I did not mean to possess your sister!"

Anne sniffled, pulled away from me, and looked me dead in the eyes. Too miserable to be suspicious, her makeup had already started to smear, and she seemed not to care in the least. Then she sighed, and pulled away from me again.

"Em—Pyrrha, I guess. Like I said, this is a lot. But, from what I can tell"—she looked me over, forehead to knees in a quick sweep before returning to match my gaze—"you seem to think you're telling the truth."

I swallowed. Not exactly the ringing endorsement of acceptance and recognition I had hoped for, but it was at least progress.

"How… how am I supposed to know if it _is_ the truth, though? Outside of just what you say, what you think you understand? You could be Mastered, you could have brain damage from the fight. Hell, this whole _thing_ "—she gestured vaguely at me again—"could just be some kind of split personality you invented to protect yourself from the attack, or from getting powers. I dunno. Maybe your brain did it, maybe your power did it, I don't have a god damn clue. Hell, maybe all capes are like that and that's the real reason why they have to dress up in a different identity when they use their powers. But even with all of the crazy shit in the world, from Scion to the Endbringers, I can think of a dozen explanations that make more sense than 'my sister is possessed by a friendly ghost.'"

The lump in my throat plummeted into my stomach. She did not believe me, and I was beginning to feel resigned to that fact. I could feel the turmoil reflected in my Aura itself, swirling and writhing just out of sight, pressing out as if begging for release. My soul was a storm.

_My… soul…_

"I have an idea that might show that I'm right." I kept my hands raised in a gesture I hoped was still non-threatening. At least placating. "It should not be dangerous, but as an experience I think it might shed some light on how this might be possible."

Anne's eyes were wary, but she did not shrink away this time as I took a step closer. I took her hands gently in one of my own, placing the other against her cheek, just as I had done with Jaune all those months ago. The poor naive fool—going into the Emerald Forest with fake transcripts and a sealed Aura, he had not even known what danger he was in.

Had he discovered his Semblance yet?

Had he become the huntsman I always knew he could be? Without my help?

Had he… moved on?

_Focus._

"Take a deep breath, please. Try to relax, then close your eyes and concentrate." Anne hesitated, but only for a moment, her light blue eyes flickering down to mine before slowly fluttering closed.

I let my Aura pour forth from me, scarlet tongues rippling out off my skin. In the bright morning sunlight I was sure that the glow would not be immediately noticeable to passersby, but it would still do not to dawdle.

I closed my eyes, and pushed _out_ with my Aura as I began the mantra.

"For it is in passing that we achieve immortality."

_Nothing._

"Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all."

_Still… nothing._

"Infinite in distance and unbound by death."

I flared my aura a little harder, coalescing it in my hands and pushing outward with all my strength.

_Nothing._ My Aura found no purchase in her.

"I release your soul"— _ **where is it!—**_ _"_ and by my shoulder…"

I faltered before completing the last line. Unlike with Jaune, where I had felt my Aura flow through me, into him, reverberate against his own dormant core and then come flooding back into me with an almost indescribable pressure, all I felt was… _nothing._ Less than the slight feedback I would get by extending my Aura through Miló and Akoúo̱.

It was like Anne wasn't even there.

My breath caught in my throat as my chest burned and my mind raced. What could this even _mean?_ Had I done something wrong with the ritual? Did I not have enough Aura available to unlock hers? I should have; in fact, I almost felt I should have more than I usually did.

It was not like when I had meditated to try to reach Emma, with that great unbridgeable chasm and that great unbreakable wall. This was simply… a lack. Void. Nothing for my Aura to latch onto and nurture. No lock to open, no seed to germinate.

_Nothing._

I tried not to let my mind run wild with the possibilities. The implications. Did Anne not have a soul? That was impossible, she was a living, breathing, thinking and feeling person. Did my Aura simply no longer work as it should? It was certainly possible that something might have changed during whatever process had brought me to this world and Emma's body.

A more sobering thought. Was Anne right? Could it be that I was not, in fact, who I thought I was? Simply some creation of Emma's tortured psyche, or the strange nature of the powers of this world?

I wished I could dismiss such thoughts out of hand. Yet, they lingered. Like a barb in my ankle, like cables shearing through steel, they remained in my mind, just deep enough beneath the surface to escape notice most of the time.

I dropped my hands, then stared at them. They were shaking. Why were they shaking?

"It… it didn't work. It was supposed to work, why didn't it work? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with—"

Arms enfolded me. A hand stroked my hair, and a voice whispered quietly into my ear. "Shhhh, it's okay. Whatever that was, it's okay if it didn't work."

I shivered against Anne's chest. The embrace, the soft voice, the comfort, it felt _wrong._ This wasn't right, not at all, not by gods above, below, or long since dead.

Was it possible that Earth was a world without souls?

I wanted to bolt. Something inside screamed at me to flee, like I had from that strangely familiar house. Yet warm arms enclosed me, soft yet firm, and I could not escape.

Then… a strange, alien soothing began to settle over me. Slowly, in fits and starts, with notes of curiosity and confusion, a gentle feeling of, if not comfort or compassion, then at least commiseration began to wash over me.

It was unnerving, having the girl whose life you had stolen and her sister both trying to comfort you at once, in their own ways. Of the two, Anne seemed by far the more sincere. Emma, or at least what little I felt of her, seemed more to simply not understand.

That made two of us, at least.

It was only when Anne pulled away that I realized how wet my face had become. She looked down at me sadly as I tried in vain to wipe my face while remaining dignified. I need not have bothered.

"Come on Ems, let's head on home. We still have a jog to finish, and I think we need to have a talk with Mom and Dad."

She pulled me along, once again by the hand. This time, I did not dig in my feet. Did not refuse or resist, merely followed.

Within my soul, there were pale blue notes of longing as I squeezed the hand that held mine and followed Anne out of the park and forward into a future even less certain than before.


	14. Interlude 2

_—_ _Forward—_

Raindrops rolled sluggishly down the window, leaving thin trails of moisture in their wake as they fell. Their paths changed suddenly as the car slowed abruptly to a stop. Two droplets that had been going on a roughly parallel track abruptly adjusted their course, colliding and forming a larger ball and a wider streak behind it from then on.

Maybe that could be a metaphor for something. Like how a change in circumstances could turn a competition into cooperation. Or maybe something like how factors outside your control determined the course of your life — who you bumped into as a complete coincidence might determine the rest of forever.

The fat little combined blob of water gradually grew smaller and smaller, dissipating into a flat streak before disappearing out of view beneath the car's side window.

That could be something about how opportunities passed you by if you didn't take them soon enough. You got used up, and then you disappeared. Maybe. Like how she had thought up most of her best excuses not to come after she had already gotten in the car and it was too late.

She had her rule about not messing with brains. It was important. Great powers, great responsibilities, and slippery slopes and all that. Especially when her power was so _good_ , so perfectly suited for helping people. Using it for evil would be a perversion, something even worse than… using fire powers to set someone on fire? Or something. Just because she could do more than just heal people didn't mean she _should,_ it wasn't what her power was for. But it might be harder to avoid in the future if she didn't stick to her rules now.

Unlike Amy, who would probably describe herself as "brooding" at the moment (Carol would probably just say pouting), Vicky practically _vibrated_ with excitement. Her gestures and facial expressions were highly animated, gesticulating and smiling wildly while almost bouncing up and down on her seat. "C'mon Ames! Don't be such a Debbie Downer! A _new cape_ is in town, somebody our age! Well, she's not in high school yet so not _really_ our age, but you know what I mean. And we get to be the first ones to meet her! I wonder what her powers are like?"

Despite herself, Amy found herself smiling at her sister's antics. Vicky's moods were always so infectious, you couldn't help but cheer up around her.

"Victoria," Carol's voice was stern from the front of the car, "I know you're excited, but remember why exactly it is that we've been asked to come over. Remember what a new cape appearing _means."_

Vicky's elastic momentum slowed, and her face fell. It was like the warmest light in the world got just a little dimmer, and Amy hated Carol for it.

Only a little, though.

Carol _was_ right, as much as it sucked to admit. A new cape meant a trigger event, and if it was anything like seeing Vicky in the wake of the fight with the Chorus then she wouldn't wish something like that on anyone. And that was outside of the other special reasons they were going to visit the new parahuman in the first place.

Amy hadn't been a hero for very long, but she had still grown up in New Wave. Never belonging in the same way Vicky did, but she was still _around._ Around enough to overhear things. Plus, she had done a bit of research of her own, in an attempt to better understand her own power and how it might be more effectively used. So she knew enough to say that she _had_ heard of cases like this before.

Someone Carol worked with had a daughter who triggered. Said daughter had suffered, from the sound of it, a complete mental break in the wake of gaining her powers. The father had begged Carol to come and have Amy look her over, and Vicky had decided to tag along.

She had tried to explain that she didn't _do_ brains when Carol had told her to get in the car, but her guardian hadn't been swayed. Carol knew that she could still see the brain in perfect detail, pinpoint problems with greater accuracy and intuition than an MRI. She should never have let that part slip in the first place.

" _Even if you can't fix her, you can at least figure out what's wrong."_

Amy wasn't sure. If it was cancer, or an infection, or missing organs or something, she wouldn't be worried at all. But psychology was _complicated._ There wasn't always a perfect representation in the brain for what was going on in the mind, and even if she had some instinctual understanding of how things worked thanks to her powers, that didn't mean she felt confident in giving a diagnosis. She wasn't even a real doctor, much less a psychiatrist.

Still, Carol got what she wanted, and Vicky had suggested tagging along to help cheer the poor girl up, and that made it basically impossible to say no. She was part of New Wave; that meant she was a hero. Heroes helped people, even if they didn't want to, even if they weren't sure they _knew how_.

So that's how she had ended up sitting in the back seat of Carol's car, in costume, watching drops of drizzle lazily slide their way down the window while she silently dreaded arriving at their destination. She was _Panacea_ , for God's sake. She'd only had her powers for a few months, and she was already one of the most famous healers on the planet. What was she supposed to do when she got there? Look a worried father and a suffering daughter in the eye and tell them both that she couldn't help? Or worse, that she _could_ help, but _wouldn't_ , because it broke a precious rule nobody else knew or cared about?

"I hope she's okay," Vicky muttered, voice subdued, chin digging into her collarbone as she stared at her shoes.

Amy reached over and laid her hand on Victoria's. Instantly, her mind lit up with her perfect mental map of her sister's biology, from the function of her entire autonomic nervous system to the smaller shifts in her gut flora. She blinked and did her best to ignore it while making eye contact with her chastised sister.

Amy smiled.

Vicky smiled back, faintly.

"We're here," Carol said as the car came to a complete stop and the engine cut off. Amy yanked her hand back and carefully adjusted her hood and scarf as she exited the vehicle. Vicky just unlatched her seatbelt and floated across the cab before levitating a few inches off the ground.

Amy shot her a look, and Vicky put on her best "dumb and innocent" face. "What?" she said in a mock tone of offense. "I just didn't want to get my shoes wet." She waggled her eyebrows, and both of them broke into a small fit of giggles that was quickly silenced by a look from Carol.

Vicky's mom had her arms folded across her chest, pointer finger tapping impatiently against her opposite elbow. The crooked eyebrow was all the further reprimand either of them needed, as she nodded her head towards the house they were visiting. Amy was the first one through the gate, and Victoria alighted beside her after floating past the more puddle-y parts of the sidewalk. Carol kept up the rear, almost as if to catch either of them if they turned and tried to escape.

She probably thought she was giving moral support.

Amy only got up the first two steps to the porch before the front door opened. The man in the doorway was big. Not just tall, but broad, and more than a bit overweight, with red hair and nice, but rumpled clothes. She froze when she met the large man's eyes. Blue. Nervous. Full of fear but also no small bit of hope. Bloodshot. Too wide. A sense of slightly manic energy to them.

"Hi?" She said, voice more a squeak than a greeting.

Those eyes flicked straight over her shoulder and the man put on a nervous smile. "Car— Brandish, it's good to see you! Thank you so much for coming." The man's hands were clasped over his chest, anxiously stroking one of his thumbs over the opposite set of knuckles. This guy worked with Carol? As a lawyer?

She could practically hear her adoptive mother rolling her eyes behind her. "Civilian names are fine, Alan. I know the girls dressed up, but it's not like we're really in the field."

At that, the big man, Alan, finally seemed to see her, gaze just as intense as it was before. Amy raised a hand, giving him a tiny, shaky wave. Vicky put a hand on her shoulder, steadying her, and Amy released a silent sigh of relief. What would she ever do without her sister?

"Glory Girl and Panacea at your service, sir." Vicky laid on a bit of her aura just a little thicker than normal to accentuate the words, and Amy saw Alan visibly relax, tension unknotting slightly from his shoulders as he dropped his hands to his side and mirrored Vicky's smile. She could relate, with the ball of warmth that grew ever so slightly inside her in time with the man's drooping frame.

Vicky floated past Amy, right up to the big man, and shook his hand. She eased off the aura, and Alan blinked owlishly, as if surprised to find his hand interlocked with that of a levitating highschooler. Ever since she had gotten her powers, Vicky took pretty much every opportunity she could to fly around. She'd do it more if Arcadia let her get away with flying through the halls between classes.

Amy definitely wasn't pouting. Or jealous.

"Thank you so much for coming over," Alan repeated himself as he continued to shake her sister's hand. Subtly, Vicky looked over her shoulder and tilted her head forward, silently urging her up to do the same. Reluctantly, she did so. As soon as Vicky disentangled herself, Amy's hand was caught in Alan's almost like a vice.

As was becoming routine, she saw the man's biology light up in her mind's eye. High blood pressure, excess cortisol, signs of extended sleep deprivation over the last several nights. High levels of consistent stress. Slightly elevated blood alcohol content, at this time of the day? She tried not to judge, but it was crystal clear that Mr. Alan had not been taking very good care of himself. It might go a long way to explain his behavior so far.

Alan shook her hand, but his eyes had gone back to looking over her shoulder at Carol. He continued shaking her hand distractedly, as if he had forgotten he was doing it. His hands were sweaty. Ew.

"I'm sorry we weren't able to come over sooner, Alan. We've just been really busy between getting the girls ready for the next school year, filing the Martinez case, and that fight with the Empire and Coil's mercenaries downtown. It's been a crazy week, I'm sure you understand." Carol's tone sounded more sincere than Amy would have thought, but she doubted Alan was exactly able to relate to arresting a bunch of guys with laser rifles and military training.

"Crazy, yeah." Alan's voice was distant, distracted. "Definitely a crazy week." He came to himself yet again, and seemed to remember that he was _still_ shaking her hand. He looked down at her and blinked. "Thank you for coming," he repeated for a third time, clasping his other hand around the outside of hers.

"Can you fix her? Help her?" The nervousness, the strung-out distractedness, all of it was gone. His tone was as cold and pointed as the blue eyes that seemed to stab through her. "Please."

She looked away, she couldn't hold his gaze. "I'll do my best, sir, but I can't make any promises." A long, excruciating moment of silence passed, and she grinned nervously. "Can I have my hand back please?"

At just that moment, a woman's voice called from over his shoulder. "Alan! You should be the last person I have to tell not to let bugs in the house! Why is the door still open?"

Apparently that was all it took to get her hand free, as Alan instantly dropped his and turned at a speed that was honestly surprising for someone of his size. The woman in the doorway, the apparent owner of the voice, was significantly shorter than Alan, seeming only a few inches taller than Amy herself. At first glance, she might have thought the woman looked more put together than her probably-husband. Less jittery, seemingly more alert, with clothes, hair and makeup still done almost perfectly. But the makeup didn't _quite_ cover up the deep bags beneath her eyes, and it could do nothing for the red rims and bloodshot veins of the eyes themselves.

The woman's scolding demeanor instantly fell away once she saw Amy and the rest of the Dallons on her porch. A tight smile twitched its way across her lips. "Oh, they're here. Why didn't you tell me, Alan, I could have gotten drinks ready."

"That shouldn't be necessary, Mrs. Barnes," Carol said, _finally_ stepping forward to be the tip of the spear for this strange social battlefield. Amy simply nodded and did her best to smile as Carol introduced her and Vicky to the woman and they were all led inside the house. There _were_ drinks after all, offerings of coffee, juice, or water. Carol took the water, Vicky took coffee, and Amy chose juice. Funny how those sorts of things worked out.

Carol and the Barnes couple engaged in tense small-talk around the kitchen's island while the Dallon sisters sipped at their drinks, not really interested in even trying to get a word in edgewise. Vicky bumped her elbow with her own, then flashed her a toothy grin. "Ames, relax. It's going to be fine." The encouragement was whispered, but still as strong as ever.

Eventually, the adults' conversation finally beat around the bush long enough to get to the point of this whole trip: Emma, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes' youngest daughter. She had been riding home with her father when they had been ambushed by the ABB, and apparently Emma had triggered fighting them off with the help of that vigilante, Shadow Stalker.

By the standards of trigger events she had heard of, it was fairly middle-of-the-road. Somewhere between Vicky's basketball game and her own… _incident._ The usual logic went that second-generation capes usually had less difficult triggers, but it wasn't always the case. First-gens could vary pretty wildly.

This cape nerd stuff was mostly Vicky's thing. In contrast, she usually stuck to what was relevant for healing people with powers. Which still hadn't come up.

"Excuse me." She cleared her throat, and all of the adults at the high table turned to look at her at once, as if they had forgotten she was there. "But what actually seems to be the issue with Emma? And when are we going to see her?"

Silence ruled over the kitchen for just long enough for her to start to regret asking before Mrs. Barnes spoke up. "Ever since her… trigger event, she has been acting very strangely. She didn't seem to remember our names, and she was talking completely differently. We thought it was just trauma, shock maybe, changing how she saw the world. Horrible, but normal."

Mr. Barnes jumped in, cutting his wife off. "But it didn't stop. It only got worse."

Amy swallowed, but Carol intervened. "Alan, you should know that something like that takes more than a week to get over. Have you set her up with a therapist yet?" _So ready to recommend therapy to people_ _ **outside**_ _the family. Someone who wouldn't be a liability if word got out._ Carol took a moment, considering, before asking her next question. "Has she gotten into anything dangerous? I should know more than most how restless young parahumans can get."

The Barneses laughed awkwardly. Vicky smiled. Carol smiled too, just a little, but it was thin, and Amy could have sworn she glanced out of the corner of her eye at her as she said it.

"We've asked around," Mr. Barnes answered, "but we figured that we should talk to you and see what Panacea here" — he stopped himself, shaking his head — "I'm sorry, what _Amy_ here might be able to do, and then we were planning on talking to the PRT. I'm sure they have to have a psychiatrist on-call for the Wards that they can put us in touch with. We have an appointment with them tomorrow."

Mrs. Barnes cut in as Carol nodded. "As for the danger, there was one… _incident_ a few days ago. Down in the docks, with the ABB."

Beside her, Vicky's jaw dropped. "Wait, that was _her_?"

The entire table turned to stare at Vicky, Amy included. Vicky just shrugged. "Shadow Stalker and an 'unidentified parahuman' apparently rescued a bunch of girls from an ABB safehouse. They met with Battery after and seemed to give a pretty good impression, which you would kinda have to, right? After doing something like that?" She took another sip of her coffee. "I heard about it from De— from the Wards." Amy rolled her eyes and sighed internally. Dean. Gallant. Vicky's _boyfriend_. It was bad enough when they were making googly eyes at each other whenever they were actually together, she had to bring him up when he wasn't even _here_. She was usually better with not letting other cape identities slip; she must have forgotten this wasn't a New Wave team debriefing.

"Still," she continued, not letting her lapse break her composure, "that was her?" The Barneses nodded. "It makes sense. If Shadow Stalker was there when she triggered,it would make sense for them to group up. They probably make a pretty good team."

Mrs. Barnes was quiet. "We've been… _supervising her_ since then to make sure she doesn't go off and do something else to get herself hurt. She hasn't complained, and she's been very helpful in the garden and around the house. Not at all like other times we've grounded her, she used to throw the worst fits or spend all day sulking in her room."

Carol smiled faintly. "Maybe she's used what she went through as a learning experience. It sounds like she's matured quite a bit."

The Barneses looked at each other, faces still, and didn't say a word. Amy had no idea what was conveyed in that glance, but it clearly had weight.

"But what's actually the _problem?"_ Amy pressed.

Try as she might to ward away the moment of tense, awkward silence, it descended anyway. Maybe not for as long as it would have had she not interjected, but it was impossible to say. This was really starting to get annoying.

"It might be better to just show you," Mr Barnes muttered, after what seemed like an eternal silent conversation with his wife conveyed entirely in eye movements and microgestures. He pushed himself away from the bar, and stood from his stool, waving Amy and Vicky over. They followed him around a corner to a door that lead down a set of carpeted stairs.

"We have an unfinished basement we turned into a home gym a while back. Didn't get much use before the incident, but now it seems like she spends all of her time in there when she's not cleaning up or gardening, or doing her new yoga thing. Apparently getting superpowers makes you more health conscious."

It was Amy and Vicky's turn to exchange silent glances. There was an implication that they both seemed to get in the man's words that he seemed to be wilfully ignoring. They understood, though. They'd been around capes their entire lives. Capes didn't willingly sit still for long.

She was training. Training to fight.

At the bottom of the stairs, the flooring turned from shag carpet to bare concrete. The walls were bare wooden supports with brightly colored fiberglass insulation stretched between them, or else undecorated concrete along the outside wall. Light came from uncovered bulbs on strings and a few strategically placed well windows along the foundation's edge. Still, Amy heard Emma well before she turned the corner and fully saw her. Small, sharp exhalations of breath, alternating with the sound of skin and rubber against a hard, smooth surface.

Amy froze when she finally saw Emma. Freckled shoulders slick with sweat, poking out from beneath a tight green tank top. Hair the color of spun copper, of fire, lit perfectly by a shaft of light from a nearby window, slicked back into spikes. Legs…

Amy shook herself. Emma dropped onto all fours, did a pushup with an impeccably straight back, flipped up to her feet to a squat, and then leapt nearly a foot into the air.

Vicky whistled. "Her form is pretty good."

Amy blinked. "You could say that again."

Mr. Barnes gave her an odd look, before loudly rapping his knuckles one of the nearby wooden beams that made up the walls. The redheaded girl whipped around, hands up defending her face, feet apart, knees slightly bent, probably distributing her weight to the balls of her feet. Amy had never learned to fight, but she had seen Carol and Uncle Neil teaching Vicky enough to recognize a trained fighting stance when she saw one.

It only lasted for half a second, though. Green eyes widened as they took in who had entered the room, and Emma quickly stood straight, a slightly chagrined half-smile on her face as she pulled the earbuds out. "Sorry, Alan, I didn't hear you come down."

Mr. Barnes winced, then shook his head slightly. He gestured to the Dallon sisters beside him tiredly, and Emma's eyes followed. " _Emma,"_ he seemed to lay particular emphasis on the name, "this is Victoria and Amy Dallon. They're part of New Wave, and they're here to talk to you."

Emma blinked, seeming genuinely puzzled for a moment. Amy could almost see the proverbial lightbulb over the other girl's head as her eyes widened and her smile grew, flashing perfect, pearly white teeth.

Amy swallowed.

The smile seemed warm, genuine, truly excited at the realization of who they were. That it was a realization at all was a bit strange, most people would have recognized them by their costumes alone. Did this girl live under a rock?

Emma did a strange bow at the waist before standing back to her full height. "It is a pleasure to meet the two of you! I was just reading about your family yesterday, and I admire the courage and honesty it takes to work without masks."

Amy just blinked again. She had read about them? The Barnes family seemed like Brockton Bay natives, shouldn't she have heard about them, or at least the older generation of New Wave, for her entire life? Emma's parents had mentioned memory loss…

Vicky didn't seem to be at nearly the loss for words that Amy was. She practically skipped up to the redhead and took her outstretched hand. "It's nice to meet you too Emma!" For some reason that seemed to make the girl's smile grow slightly sad. Vicky didn't seem to notice. "Like your dad said, I'm Victoria Dallon, a-k-a Glory Girl, but you can just call me Vicky if you want." She waved back at Amy. "My sister also goes by Panacea when she's in costume, but I mostly just call her Ames." She leaned closer to Emma and spoke in an exaggerated stage whisper, "Don't mind her, she's a little shy. I'm trying to get her to get over it."

She physically fought the urge to roll her eyes. "I can actually talk for myself, y'know."

Mr. Barnes shuffled his feet, then looked around as if avoiding making eye contact with his daughter. "I'll leave you girls to get to know each other. If any of you need us, we'll be upstairs." The big man beat a hasty, heavy-footed retreat up the stairs, all three of them watching him go. After the door at the top of the stairs closed, Emma let out a long, belaboured sigh.

Vicky's smile was sympathetic. "Having issues with your folks? Heard you got grounded for running off with Shadow Stalker. Can't imagine what it's like to have parents who aren't capes. It must be pretty rough."

Emma shook her head, suddenly seeming much more tired than she had just moments before. "It's… more than that, really. And I guess I should not be surprised that they already told you about that." She turned and sat down on a nearby workout bench. "What else did they tell you, that I'm crazy?"

Amy and Vicky exchanged glances. Vicky kept peripheral eye contact with Amy while she tilted her head toward the third girl in the room, as if to indicate that it was her turn to talk.

"Honestly, we haven't heard all that much," Amy began hesitantly. "Just that you had been having some issues since your trigger event."

Vicky nodded. "We both understand how rough those can be, and we're here to listen if you want to talk about it." A pause filled the space between the three of them, pregnant with nervous anticipation that only the Dallons were aware of. "Also, Amy's power might be able to find some of the… _issues._ Maybe even help fix them."

Amy drew a quick breath in through her teeth. She had hoped the subject could have been brought up a little more gradually, without opening her up to overpromising, but Vicky was nothing if not direct. Blunt, at least sometimes.

_Deep breaths Ames. Remember, you're here to be a hero._

"What's most important is that we are here to help, Emma." A decent attempt to salvage the conversation, or so she thought. In response, Emma only seemed to grimace.

"I'd prefer if you did not call me by that name."

Vicky looked to Amy, eyebrow raised, then back to the other girl. "What would you rather be called then?"

The redhead's smile returned, although faintly. "Pyrrha works just fine. It's not my 'cape name', exactly, but it fits me better than _her_ name does." That only drew _more_ questions, and this time the other girl seemed to pick up on that. She tapped her palms against her knees, seeming to mull something over. "Fine. It seems like Alan and Zoe trust you, if they let you in here in the first place and already let you know some of it. I might as well let you in on the full story. You two ought to appreciate living without a mask, not hiding who you really are."

That was an… _interesting_ take on New Wave's lack of privacy and real civilian lives, but now really wasn't the time to get bogged down in jealous weeds.

Emma — no, _Pyrrha?_ waved at them distractedly. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I have a feeling we may be speaking for a while. I'm sorry there are not many seats around here." She seemed genuinely sorry about it too, as if she was imposing on them for having this conversation here. And speaking so formally as well.

Amy did her best to sit steadily on a slightly-deflated yoga ball. Vicky just sprawled out in the air, which seemed to give 'Pyrrha' pause for a moment before she was able to move on.

"The reason I prefer that you call me Pyrrha is actually quite simple. It is my name, my real one, the one my mother gave me when I was born. I am not Emma Barnes, although I am… _filling in_ for her for the moment, you could say." She raised a hand as if to ward off further comments. "I understand how that sounds, but I would ask you to simply wait until I have said my piece."

This time Amy was the one to look over at her sister. _Really? A split personality?_ Those weren't supposed to be real, at least not in the way that the movies usually played them up. She hadn't studied much psychology, but she was pretty sure about that at least. Vicky seemed equally wary, at least in her eyes. One could mistake her splayed-out, sideways-hovering position as relaxed if you didn't know Vicky as well as Amy did.

The story only grew more unbelievable as "Pyrrha" continued to tell it. How she was some kind of cape, but not _really_ a cape, from another world who had died in a doomed last stand in a conflict that sounded barely coherent, somehow transported herself to Earth, and took over Emma Barnes's body in the middle of her being attacked by the ABB. Which, she felt the need to stress, was _not_ a trigger event.

So apparently, in addition to being an alternate personality, Pyrrha was a ghost _and_ an alien, but _not_ a parahuman. At least she considered herself a hero. More specifically a "huntress", which sounded kind of like being a Ward.

What, _exactly,_ she had hunted went conspicuously unaddressed.

On the positive side, she was sure to emphasize that Emma wasn't dead, she was just trapped inside their mind without any clear way to get free. _So that was a plus_.

How the _**fuck**_ was she supposed to deal with this? She was a miracle worker, not a doctor, and certainly not a psychologist. Even without her rules against messing with brains, she wasn't sure she could resolve delusions on this level without leaving a cascade of knock-on effects behind.

The haunted looks on the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Barnes made so much more sense now.

Vicky, bless her, tried to move the subject into more familiar territory, seeming to silently pick up that Amy needed more time to process whatever the hell was going on in Emma's brain.

"So… Pyrrha, I know you said you didn't trigger, necessarily, but you do have powers right?" The question was asked with significantly less confidence than Vicky usually showed, but still far more than Amy was able to work up. Of course Vicky fell back on her cape nerd side when she wasn't sure where to go next. Amy couldn't exactly blame her for it.

The redhead nodded. "Yes. I possess the same abilities I had while I was living on Remnant."

Of course, she didn't elaborate.

Vicky chewed her lower lip, clearly struggling to find where to take the conversation from there. "Well, uh, Amy's a healer," she said, pointing at her sister with a foot, "one of the best in the world, actually. And I've got a bunch of pretty cool powers."

Amy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. _Sure, praise my powers right before you start bragging to make it seem like you're not._ Classic Glory Girl, not the first time she'd done that.

Using her hand this time, Vicky waved at the empty space between her sprawled form and the floor. "I've got this, obviously. Flying's pretty cool, probably my favorite power. Part of being an Alexandria package, along with being super-strong and basically indestructible with my forcefield. And I've also got my aura—"

The redhead's reaction to that last word was as sudden as it was unexpected. In a flash, she was on her feet, eyes wide, a few decibels from shouting. "You have an aura!?" Amy reeled from the sudden change, and Vicky hardly reacted better, nervously floating a few inches further up and away from the other girl.

"Uh, yeah. It's a kind of emotion-affecting power, I guess. I can make people close to me feel admiration or awe around me. Like this," she said, pulsing the power through the room. For just a second, it seemed like Vicky's hair shone like spun gold in the once-pale light from the basement window, and everything felt right in the world. It was gone as quickly as it came, and Amy did her best not to wilt.

Pyrrha nodded slowly before sitting back down, her expression darkened by a shadow of disappointment. "I apologize for my outburst," she said, tone subdued. "It was a simple misunderstanding." The crestfallen girl was suddenly bathed in a sheen of flickering crimson light, seeming to emanate from everywhere on her body and nowhere all at once. "On Remnant, Aura is the name for the power of a free and activated soul. All huntsmen and huntresses use it, but they are not the only ones who do so. It protects us from harm, heals us, strengthens us and warns us of danger."

Amy's eyes grew wide at the description. Cutting through the mystic spiritualism, it sounded like a pretty decent Brute package with maybe a small Thinker element as well. Not a bad combination, especially for a young hero who had already gotten in fights with Brockton Bay's gangs.

Pyrrha smiled sadly as she continued. "I am growing convinced that it does not exist here on Earth. I… tried to unlock someone's Aura, as I would have done back home, but it did not work. I was frightened by that. It worried me to think that all of you might not have souls." Definitely _**not**_ a phrase you wanted to hear a crazy girl say. "But I came to the conclusion that even if I cannot sense them, you must still have souls. You are all very much alive. Just… different from what I am used to."

 _It's okay Ames, no need to get alarmed. The alien ghost girl talked herself back into believing that we're all actually alive and_ **hopefully** _deserve to stay that way. No need to get worked up. None at all!_

Always trust Vicky to be able to come back around and change the subject. "Those are some pretty cool powers." Vicky's smile was as thin and weak as her tone, but she did come a bit closer to the ground, changing to a sitting position in mid-air. "You said a lot of people on… _Remnant_ had the same power? All the heroes at least?"

Pyrrha nodded. "Yes, although the amount of Aura every huntsman has varies. What little useful research I have been able to do on your 'Search Engine' and your 'wikis' has said that this is very different from how your parahuman abilities work. Capes do not usually run out of their power and have to let it recharge, from what I understand."

Vicky's smile grew a little bit, but it was still tight. "Yeah, that doesn't usually happen. There are limits to some powers though. Like the Manton Effect, or how some Thinkers get headaches when they use their powers too much." Pyrrha nodded, seeming to seriously consider Vicky's words, but Amy heard what went unsaid. Bringing up the weakness in her own forcefield seemed like a pretty bad idea, at least for the moment.

Pyrrha pulled out a smartphone from her shorts' pocket and typed quickly as if to note something down. "Manton Effect… and... Thinker limitations. Always more research to do, it seems. We did not have these things on Remnant, you understand. It is a very different world from this one, and every day I find more ways. Not as big a difference as not having Aura or Dust of course, but still fascinating." She looked up from her phone, as if realizing that she had been talking only to herself. "Do either of you know any Thinkers? I am very curious to meet one. A Semblance that makes you more intelligent could be quite useful in figuring out how to bring Emma back."

Amy blinked. Vicky blinked.

"I don't think so—"

"—Semblance?"

They both chuckled a little at how they stumbled over each other. Vicky nodded to give her sister the go-ahead to answer the question first.

"There aren't any general Thinkers in New Wave or the local Protectorate as far as I remember."

Pyrrha nodded, visibly disappointed.

"Sorry, but you said something about a semblance? A semblance of what?"

Victoria's question got Pyrrha to give a small humorous snort and a shy smile. "A semblance of what indeed? The soul? The old magic? The divine? The origin of the term has been debated by scholars and philosophers for centuries, but nobody really knows." While the Dallon sisters blinked in confusion, Pyrrha shook her head. "Sorry, I know it's not the proper term for the powers you capes have, it's just what's familiar to me."

The redhead stretched out her left hand, and across the basement a twenty-pound dumbbell lifted off its place on its rack and smoothly floated over to rest, floating over her hand, rotating slowly. Squinting, Amy could make out that there was a faint blackish blur that surrounded the metal, like a combination of smoke and a heat mirage. Easy to miss if you weren't up close and paying careful attention.

"I was telling the truth when I said that all huntsmen on Remnant use Aura to fight and protect themselves, but I would be dishonest to imply that that was the only thing. In time, either through training or desperate need, someone with their Aura unlocked will develop a Semblance, a power unique to them, an expression of their soul beyond the common benefits Aura provides." The weight dropped into Pyrrha's palm, and she held it with a perfectly steady arm, not dipping at all. Her smile had grown much wider, definitely more sincere. "I liked to call mine Polarity."

Amy watched in bemusement as Vicky shot forward, looking closely over the redhead's outstretched arm. "A Shaker power on top of the Brute/Thinker set? That's so cool! You said your power is polarity, does that mean that it's just metal? Or only magnetic metals? Do you have a maximum range? Ooh! A maximum number of objects you can lift at once? A weight limit? How fast can you make stuff move? How much—"

Seemed like the ice had finally been broken, and Lake Victoria had decided to overflow in a flood of cape geekery. Amy laughed. She should have felt sorry for the other girl, but to be honest she wasn't. Her sister had always been interested in powers, certainly more than she was. Ever since they were little, Vicky had constantly been asking their elder family members questions. The shine had worn off a little over the years, especially after getting powers of her own, but it still came out with new capes. Friendly ones, at least. Vicky was usually too busy trying to cave in the faces of Empire capes to ask them exactly how their powers worked.

Still, it was funny to watch the look of consternation on Pyrrha's face as Vicky started running her through a demonstration of her Shaker power, having her add more and more pieces of available metal to the slowly turning cloud around her while unloading a battery of questions that she tried to answer in vain. Luckily, they stopped short of trying to rip out the house's pipes, but not before the workout bench, weight stand, all the various dumbbells, and the treadmill were all bobbing up and down in midair just like her sister.

Best of all, the air of tension that had wormed its way through the conversation seemed to have finally left, and it gave her the time to work up the courage to do what she came here for. That meant that she no longer really had an excuse to keep putting _it_ off.

Amy cleared her throat. Loudly. Three times, before Vicky finally stopped talking and she was able to get both of their attention. She tried to fake her best smile, but she doubted it was convincing.

"So, um, Pyrrha? Your— I mean, _Emma's_ parents asked me to come here and check on you, with my power. It lets me find things that are wrong in the body and fix them up. And, well…" she trailed off, then took a deep breath. Over the redhead's shoulder, she could see Vicky giving her the double thumbs up. "My power doesn't let me affect brains, but I can see them very clearly. More clearly than any non-Tinkertech imaging machine, I'm pretty sure. It might help with…" _finding out what's wrong with you might set her off,_ she felt the need to remind herself, "Uh, helping to wake Emma up? Or something." _Great way to stick the landing Ames._

She sighed. "Honestly, I'm not sure how much I can actually help, but Carol and Mr. and Mrs. Barnes really want me to try, okay?"

Pyrrha's somewhat baffled excitement at being verbally assaulted by Victoria melted into a sad, but serious expression. With a wave of her hand, everything but Vicky floating in the room slowly made its way back to its proper place, weight rack down with all of the dumbbells and other weights, the treadmill laid down with nearly perfectly silent gentleness. Green eyes met brown, and Pyrrha nodded. "Very well. I am certainly not in any position to turn down help."

Amy stepped forward, and Vicky tapped the redhead on the shoulder from behind. "You have to give her your hand, her power needs skin contact to work right." Pyrrha did so, hand proffered almost like a princess giving her hand to a gallant knight to kiss. Amy let it hang for a moment.

"I know this is sort of redundant, but I have your permission to use my power on you, right?" Pyrrha seemed confused at the repetition, but responded in the affirmative.

Amy reached out, and took the other girl's hand.

She gasped.

When most people said that someone was "beautiful on the inside" they normally meant that they were kind, friendly, charitable if they were being sincere. Otherwise, it was usually just a passive-aggressive way to say that someone was ugly.

Pyrrha, though? Pyrrha was _beautiful_ inside, in the most literal possible sense. Her systems seemed to be operating at a level of efficiency she'd never seen before outside of regenerators and a few Case 53's she'd been asked to work on. Her nervous system was in top form, sending and receiving signals quickly without signs of misfiring. Her cellular growth and replacement rate was far beyond normal, but with no signs of becoming cancerous. The new muscle cells coming in seemed stronger, more resilient than she was used to, certainly more so than some of the older specimens she could still find in Emma's body. The same process was going on in her bones and ligaments. There had to be some kind of synergy there, between her training and her power.

There was definitely something there, she decided as she looked closer at the other girl's cells. Something at the subcellular level, but also beyond it, permeating her entire body. Something her power couldn't really see or touch, but it was certainly there, like grasping at a silhouette of negative space, like hearing a song in the moments of silence between breaths. Something that directed each system to work quickly, tirelessly, in perfect harmony with itself and each other system.

Emma Barnes— Pyrrha, it didn't really matter which, was going through the process of becoming a peak human.

The fact that she couldn't see what was causing it was frustrating. Which reminded her why she was here in the first place.

Amy drew her attention to the girl's brain. Here, as everywhere, the invisible, intangible force seemed to optimize functionality. She could tell that her reflexes were already faster than the average person's, and would probably continue to sharpen. She could find examples of so many little things that were just slightly tuned up, as if some god had been gradually tinkering with her, improving her over time. But beyond that, she couldn't find any abnormalities.

_None._

_Not even the ones that were supposed to be there._

The Corona Pollentia and Gemma weren't always the same size or shape in all parahumans, and they weren't always in the same locations either. But they were always present, at least in some form.

Not here though.

Even a significant number of non-parahumans had at least the Corona Pollentia, just one that hadn't activated yet. Yet Emma's did not. _Pyrrha'_ s did not. It was as clean an example of a normal _homo sapiens_ brain as she had _ever_ seen. _What the fuck?_

Amy swallowed, and slowly drew her hand away. As awareness of the basement around her rushed back, she blinked to see Pyrrha standing serenely before her, eyes closed, body perfectly still. Like a Greek statue, in living color.

Until she cracked one eyelid to look back at her. "Um, was that all?" Green eyes met brown, green eyes that her genes and pigmentation had all coded to be blue. Was that a clue, somehow?

Amy brought her hand back to rest against her chest, rubbing her thumb against forefinger. "Yeah," she answered faintly, airily, voice not quite in time with her thoughts, "I work pretty fast." She smiled lazily, then giggled. "You're perfect. Biologically, I mean."

_Those green eyes._

The world swayed gently back and forth. Lights seemed brighter, the air seemed colder against her skin, the smell of old dust more potent. She could almost hear distant music, playing a tune human ears could never hear on an instrument human hands could never play.

She smiled.

"Amy?"

_It was such a pleasant song..._

"Amy?"

_If only she could make out the words..._

"Amy, are you okay?"

There was a hand on her shoulder, and suddenly the world stopped swaying back and forth and rocked violently backward _once._

"Amy!"

The sharp concern in her sister's voice, as well as the quick shake of her shoulder, snapped her back to herself.

She blinked, then rubbed her eye, shaking her head.

"Sorry, zoned out there for a second." She looked around the room to find both Victoria and Pyrrha looking at her worriedly, although Vicky's worry seemed tinged with nervous suspicion of the redhead beside her. Amy got her feet under her and steadied herself against the bare concrete wall.

She shook her head.

The song was gone.

She tapped her toe against the concrete floor, failing to pick the rhythm back up. What was it? What had it sounded like? It was so _beautiful_ , if only she could…

What was she doing? She stopped when she realized her hand was inches from Pyrrha's own, then pulled back like she had been burned. Was she going crazy, hearing things that weren't there? Was something up with her power?

Her mouth felt very dry. She tried to swallow anyway.

With a small, fake laugh she tucked the offending hand back into a pocket of her robe, trying to play it off as some kind of joke. "Don't know what came over me just there, I felt a little light headed I guess." She smiled warmly at her sister. "I'm fine Vicky, really. I think I might have just looked too closely to try to find something, overtaxed myself. It's already passed." Seeing her sister's concern melt into relief went a long way to ameliorating what was left of her own anxiety.

She turned to Pyrrha. "And as I said, you have the cleanest bill of health I've _ever_ seen. Is that a byproduct of your power?"

Pyrrha nodded, though her look of concern only changed slightly. "I would expect so. Huntresses do not often get sick, and Aura heals us quickly of most injuries." She seemed preoccupied with something, and it slowly dawned on Amy what it might be.

"Sorry, I wasn't able to find any sign of Emma in your brainspace. My power is pretty strictly biological, not" — she gestured vaguely at Pyrrha — "spiritual or whatever. I've never looked for souls before, not sure I'd know what they'd look like if I did find one." She laughed at her own joke, more of a snorted chortle than an actual laugh. Vicky made fun of her for it sometimes. Sisterly teasing.

Pyrrha nodded again, eyes downcast. "It is what I expected, but thank you for trying."

A long moment passed, somber and contemplative. Then Vicky butted in, taking Pyrrha around the shoulder with a sly, feline smile working its way across her face. "So… Miss 'perfect bill of health', how about you show off some more of that other power for me? What do you say to a spar?"

Bowed under Vicky's arm, Pyrrha's face was thoughtful. "We could certainly clear a space… Unarmed, I assume? I'm best with spear and shield, but I am proficient without them."

Amy met her sister's eyes. "Remember Vicky, this isn't your house. The walls aren't reinforced. I'm sure Mrs. Barnes doesn't want to find out why certain people on PHO have started calling you Collateral Damage Bar—"

"I'll be good!" Vicky shouted, hands out in a theatrical pleading gesture. Both sisters laughed, and even Pyrrha smiled faintly.

_—_ _Forward—_

Victoria kept her promise. There was no structural damage to the Barnes family basement, only a healthy amount of sweat, and, on Vicky's part, a slightly bruised ego.

She had held back on her super strength for fear of overloading the other girl's forcefield, and the low-ish ceiling of the basement prevented her from getting the full advantage out of her flight. Pyrrha, on the other hand, was just as quick and strong as Amy's look into her biology suggested, and was apparently underselling her ability to kickbox and wrestle.

The girl ducked and wove under and around every single one of Vicky's strikes, even ones that came at angles that would have been impossible without flight. Pyrrha, meanwhile, struck like a point boxer. None of her blows were strong enough to break Vicky's forcefield, thank god, but the image of the younger redhead holding her sister in a submission hold that her sister tried to somehow fly out of would stick in Amy's head for quite a long time. Any time she needed a good laugh, especially. The redhead hadn't been able to capitalize on the hold however, and Vicky's superior strength had broken her out fairly quickly, dropping Pyrrha on her ass.

Technically, both girls had decided that the fight was a draw, but Victoria definitely came out of the tussle looking and acting like the defeated party. Pyrrha seemed remarkably high-handed, if shy, when she offered to point out counters to some of her specific moves and holds at a later date. The fact that she seemed heartbreakingly sincere, rather than like she was rubbing her nose in it, was likely all that kept Vicky from blowing up.

After that, an older girl had come down to tell them all that they had been invited to stay for dinner, and that it was ready. Anne looked strikingly similar to her younger sister, which only emphasized how different they were. How differently they spoke and acted. How differently they walked. Stood. Practically _breathed._

Dinner was pleasantly awkward, with Carol carrying on a conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Barnes that did not go very far to include the teens, who mostly ate in silence. Anne mostly listened in to the conversation between the parents, occasionally interjecting, but more often sneaking half-hidden glances at her younger sister. Something she and Vicky had in common, apparently.

The rain had long since stopped by the time they left the Barnes house and walked to the car, though the ground was still soggy. Once the doors had closed, belts buckled, and the engine started, Carol turned to look at the girls in the back seat. "So, team, what's the report?"

Amy shook her head. "From what I could see, her brain is normal. There wasn't anything I could fix. Not anything I could even really find _wrong_ with her. Whatever her issue is, it isn't brain damage."

Carol nodded slowly, before turning around and pulling out of the Barnes' driveway. "I can't say I expected any different, based on what her parents told me about her condition. It sounds like she's lost in a fantasy to protect herself from having to face the real world, more than the result of any physical injury."

"It's weirder to hear it from her in person," Vicky interjected in agreement, "like, she talks like some noble warrior out of like, Lord of the Rings or the Iliad or something. And she talks about this different world she says she's from, how everyone there can be a cape, stuff like that." She frowned. "It would actually be kinda fun if it wasn't a coping mechanism."

"Poor girl," Carol said, unconvincingly to Amy's ears, "her mother is practically a saint for how well she seems to be taking it." There was a brief lull in the conversation, just enough to not quite clear the air, but at least gesture at doing so. "So, did you get as good a look at the new cape's power set as you wanted, Victoria?"

Excitement, nervousness, and maybe even a bit of embarrassment warred across Vicky's face. "Uh, yeah. I did, actually." She rolled her shoulders, and some of her characteristically bright, bouncy energy seemed to return. "She's pretty cool, kind of a weird power suite. Brute, with a forcefield kinda like mine, plus a Shaker effect that lets her control metal telekinetically, and a Thinker power that gives her faster reflexes and maybe made her really good in a fight?" She scratched the back of her head, not meeting Carol's eyes by the end of her sentence.

Amy chewed her lip, feeling her stomach sink. She didn't voice the sneaking suspicion that was starting to build volume, even ever so faintly, inside her.

"She doesn't have a Corona!" she blurted out instead, cutting off Carol's interrogation on Pyrrha's fighting prowess. They both cut off mid thought, blinked, and took a moment to process. They could not have looked more like mother and daughter in that moment, which made Amy feel a bit jealous, but she also took a tiny bit of pride in the fact that Vicky seemed to absorb the information just a hair faster.

"When I said her brain was normal earlier, I meant it. Not normal by parahuman standards, I mean _normal._ No Corona Pollentia, no Corona Gemma, nothing. Completely average brain for a teenage girl."

Carol's eyebrows furrowed as she stared off into some point in the seat between Amy and Vicky. "That's... that's not possible."

Vicky's eyes were wide, and she had started to unconsciously hover out of her seat belt. "I mean, technically there are a few Case 53's that don't even _have_ brains, or at least not brains as we understand them, and they don't have Coronas either. Obviously." Then she blinked again and fell the few inches back to her seat. "Are you sure, Ames?"

Amy nodded. "Positive. It's what weirded me out so much after I pulled away, why I was kinda off after." She hated lying to her sister, even if it wasn't a very big one, but there was no way she was going to explain the song she hadn't quite heard after touching the redheaded girl. Better to just lock that down and forget about it. It wasn't as big a secret as the one she was already keeping from Vicky anyway...

"Huh," Vicky responded, clearly occupied in thought. "I was a little nervous about that, actually. Your eyes kinda glazed over there, you really weren't acting like yourself."

She held up a hand. "It's fine, I'm fine. I'm all better now."

Carol was still mulling the first revelation over. "It's definitely strange. Certainly unprecedented, as far as I'm aware. I'll call Alan when I get back and let him know, he ought to be aware for that PRT meeting tomorrow."

Vicky's smile returned then, if only a little bit. "Ooh! Do you think there's gonna be a new Case Number? That would be pretty cool. And we got to test it before the PRT did, that's awesome!"

Amy couldn't find a place within herself to share her sister's enthusiasm.

Emma Barnes did not have a Corona Pollentia. That was a verifiable fact. Any brain scans the PRT gave her would yield the same result.

Yet she definitely had powers. Vicky and Amy had both seen the ferrokinesis in action, and that wasn't even mentioning the enhanced physical strength and speed and the personal force field that had all made themselves known during their brawl.

She had always been able to _see_ powers, before. They were the brightest point in the biomap of any parahuman she healed, beyond the rest of the brain. The greatest temptation to poke around with, tweak just a little. The best argument to never break her rule.

Emma— Pyrrha, she... _they_ were different. She could only see evidence of the power working, never the power itself. What would she even trace it back to, without a Corona? The power had no source, no control mechanism, depending on which Corona theory you subscribed to.

Arguably more importantly, though, she had skills. She moved and fought like someone with years of training. Amy wasn't a fighter herself, but she had grown up surrounded by them. No freshly triggered cape with barely a full week of experience would have been able to take Vicky down like that. She could probably even give Carol or Uncle Neil a run for their money.

Was it possible that those moves came from some kind of combat Thinker ability? Technically, yes. Victor, in the Empire, could steal skills and use them like he had trained for years. Amy was skeptical, though. Her powers _and_ her apparent knowledge had to come from somewhere. They had to have some kind of source, right? Even if she couldn't see what it was.

Dare she wonder if that source really was spiritual?

_Those green eyes…_

_…_ _Four notes_

_blue yet masked with light..._

_the faintest hint of a melody she couldn't hear_

She swallowed and listened to Carol and Vicky carry on the conversation without her. They were probably right. Even with all of the strangeness surrounding the situation, what was more likely? The emergence of a new, aberrant kind of power manifestation? Or that a girl from another world, not even another Earth but another _world entirely_ , had died and taken over the body of a thirteen year old Brocktonite?

There was a reason the PRT had something like ninety case numbers.

There was a faint _tap tap tap_ against the roof of the car. A big, fat raindrop struck the window right in front of Amy's face before slowly trailing its way down in a wide streak, out of sight.

Sometimes, rain was just rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... It's been quite the hell of a year, hasn't it? While my situation isn't much worse than what I imagine everyone else's has been, my ability and capacity to write really took a shot to the heart because of covid and various resulting material and mental illness related distractions and burdens. That Onion article "Man Not Sure Why He Thought Most Psychologically Taxing Situation Of His Life Would Be The Thing To Make Him Productive" really sums the whole situation up pretty damn well. BUT, I've decided to at least post the remainder of the completed Arc 2 here and on FF.net, and reading through them, I'm honestly surprised by how proud of this arc I still am. This contains not only my longest ever chapter, (this interlude) but my personal favorite chapter I've ever written (2.6), and the quality of both can be largely chalked up to my former beta-readers over on SB who I've alienated with this unintentional hiatus (fic death if we're being honest). 
> 
> However, Two of my favorite Worm stories I've ever read recently came to an end over on Spacebattles, (Impurity by Aleph and EarthScorpion, and The Countess by Husr) and they've inspired me to take another crack at this story that I've let languish for the entirety of 2020. I've learned better than to make promises on when the next update will happen, but I'm hopeful it will be *soon* in the most nebulous possible sense.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading what I've written. It genuinely means a lot that this silly idea I had has any fans at all, and my fear of facing those people after going absent for so long has definitely been a contributing factor to my writers block, but it honestly does mean the world to me. I'd of course appreciate a comment/review, but obviously you're under no obligation.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment or review and let me know what you think!
> 
> The complete (up to most recent update) work can be found on Spacebattles here: https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/pyrrhic-victory-rwby-worm.775690/


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